Jokulhaups
by Kayasuri-n
Summary: When the only way to win is to clear the board... Sword and Shield 'verse, M for murder, COMPLETE
1. Game

Disclaimer: I own NOTHING! Well, I do own some things, but nothing lawyers would be interested. Detective Brenda Johnson is especially mine- even if her name and career happen to belong to some TV show I've never heard of before- she is most certainly mine.

That said, it's advised that you read/have read Sword and Shield before this. It's not necessary, but it will make more sense if you have, since there are repeated references to what's happened before.

And now, without further ado, the story.

**Jokulhaups  
****Wednesday**

Medea stood at the end of a long line of trainers. Kanto was a lot different from Hoenn. Hoenn didn't have some weird tradition with a torch or a fire that hadn't gone out for hundreds of years. Hoenn didn't have a full day of games and feasts and no pokemon battles just to make the trainers nervous.

She'd beaten the Hoenn league.

Medea Velde, a celebrity back home, a rising star everywhere else. There were more cameras focused on her then anyone else.

She knew her fellow trainers noticed.

She was eighteen now, and had replaced two pokemon of her team. The replaced had been old, weaker and slower. The new pokemon weren't as strong, but they covered a weakness she'd had since the beginning of her training days.

Medea smiled for the cameras, wishing she was back home. Wishing that she had never won Hoenn's pokemon league Championship.

She shivered suddenly. Her mother would have said that someone had just walked over her grave. Medea wasn't superstitious; all she thought was that someone had let a ghost type out.

The announcer made the closing remarks. Medea blinked, and looked around guiltily. She hadn't been paying attention to what was being said. The other trainers all looked like they had memorized the speech.

Well, for them, this was pretty special. For Medea, this was just another tournament. If she lost here, she'd retire. It was as simple as that.

The camera lenses pointed in her direction were gleaming. Medea was used to them, to the way reporters all tried to talk over each other and be the only one to get her attention. They'd been worse in Hoenn, where they were all Hoenn reporters.

She was calm when she began walking towards the field exit, towards the reporters. They were already starting to ask her questions and she wasn't halfway to them.

Medea smiled, politely, and looked them over. Her personal stalkers from Hoenn were waiting for her. Gabby was smiling, not talking yet, and Ty was being his usual mute-seeming self.

Medea walked towards them. "Hey," she said, nodding to Gabby. She made sure to keep her voice down, so that the other reporters couldn't hear. Let them harass the other trainers. Medea hadn't wanted to be famous, and Gabby was a nice interviewer.

"Hey, Medea. You know the drill."

Medea nodded, and turned to face the camera. Ty held up three fingers, two, and at one Gabby started talking.

"Hello, I'm Gabby Taylor for Channel 9 news. I'm speaking to you know from the Kanto pokemon league field with Medea Velde. Medea, how are you feeling right now?"

Medea smiled, calmly. "I'm feeling very confident, Gabby." Being interviewed by Gabby was easy. "I don't foresee any problems in the preliminary rounds."

0O0

Medea rubbed the back of her neck and started up the stairs. It had been a long day. She was known; she couldn't just _leave_ during the festivities. Little known trainers or trainers who'd never been heard of before could. They could go, hide in their hotel rooms, and take a shower, whatever.

Medea had been dragged around the fair grounds by Gabby. It hadn't been a bad experience, but Medea just wanted to be left alone.

"Hey."

Medea looked up, already opening her mouth to respond.

She was pushed backwards. Down the stairs. She screamed.

Darkness.

**Saturday**

Brenda was whistling. This was her last visit to the damn hospital. Her last check up, the last time someone in a white lab coat would poke and prod and ask how she was.

Freedom was a nice feeling.

She got into her car and flipped on the radio for the noise. She frowned a little and glanced at the passenger seat. Two months ago, the fact that it was empty wouldn't have bothered her. Now, it was an irritating reminder that she had a partner.

He was a good partner, at least. Smart, didn't ask too many questions, and was getting the hang of brewing coffee.

Mewtwo certainly wasn't a pain in the ass any more, except when he was.

Thinking of Mewtwo, Brenda thought she should call him. He'd be at her place, probably on the computer. Rewarding himself for all the hard work he'd put in.

Brenda grinned. She could just see it; Mewtwo hunched over the keyboard, staring at the screen, on the edge of his seat so he wouldn't sit on his tail. He'd need a break or he'd start getting stiff.

Brenda considered her radio, and snorted. Like she wanted this conversation on police channels.

Mewtwo had said he could hear her, wherever she was in the city. Brenda didn't trust her ability to 'project'- his word- her thoughts to his mind.

So she called him on her cell phone.

Mewtwo picked up on the second ring. _(Detective?)_

Brenda frowned. "Did you just leave the phone hanging in mid air again?"

_(What? Detective, what are you talking about?)_

Brenda rolled her eyes. Why did she have to explain _everything_? "Last time you answered the phone and did the freaky mind-voice thing, you just left the phone hanging in mid air by the hook. Don't do that."

_(How is that a problem? I am a psychic, I can hear your voice coming from the phone as it is-)_

"What happens if someone looks in the window, dumbass?"

There was a pause, in which Brenda heard the satisfying sound of the phone hitting the nearest flat object. Probably the floor, but she wasn't feeling very picky. She'd work up to his actually having the phone within five feet of him.

_(The phone is on an end table, Detective. Better?)_

"Much," Brenda said, thinking. Did she even have an end table?

_(Is there a reason for this call?)_

"I need a reason to harass you?" Brenda swerved around an accident waiting to happen. The driver of the blue van was fixing her lipstick. "Actually, I wanted to gloat."

_(About what?)_

"Last visit to the torture chamber," Brenda said.

_(Ah. No more hospital checkups?)_

"Nope!" Brenda grinned. "They just gave me a bunch of suggestions. I like swimming. I always do stretches. Moisturizer is easy to remember when it looks like some kid made my leg out of play-doh."

_(…I didn't need to hear about the moisturizer.)_

"Does the psychic kitty have a problem with discussing the human body?" Brenda cooed.

_(No.)_

"Really," Brenda drawled. "Sure, I believe you. You look terrified right now for some other reason, I'm sure."

_(How do you know what I look like?)_

She grinned. "I know you. Whenever Alison comes up you look like you're haunted. Or terrified. It depends on whether I'm thinking of inviting her over for a week."

_(Please don't joke about that. Please.)_

"Fine, fine."

_(On that line, you did mail her your letter, didn't you?)_

"Yup. On my way to torture."

_(It's just a hospital.)_

"It's a torture chamber. They've got needles, make you do things that hurt, and drug you. Torture."

Mewtwo sighed. _(Very well, Detective. Torture chamber.)_

"Glad you agree with me. I'm thinking about stopping for a pizza. Veggie for you?"

_(Yes, please. I'm glad you finally have a bill of perfect health, Detective. Does this mean I can stop running after the suspects now?)_

"Why stop a good thing?" Brenda asked, flipping her turn signal. "Anyways, I'm not supposed to run for a week."

Mewtwo sighed again. It was starting to get on Brenda's nerves. _(Very well. I await your return with pizza.)_

"Yeah, yeah." Brenda turned off the phone and tossed it on the passenger seat.

Brenda parked her car and rubbed her leg. Sometimes she thought it was supposed to hurt, but it didn't. She was supposed to be thankful for that, and didn't admit that it made her uneasy.

Burns were _supposed_ to hurt.

Brenda shook her head and locked the car. She looked up at the sky and frowned. There were dark clouds building on the horizon. It would probably rain sometime that night.

Fifteen minutes Brenda had the pizza and was driving home. Paul's Pizza tended to keep the non-specialty orders already made and waiting in a heater. All Brenda really had to do was order, accept her order, and pay.

Rain was beginning to fall. Brenda ignored the fact that one of her windshield wipers appeared to be broken. The driver's side of the window was kept more or less clear.

She listened with half a mind to the police radio. There was nothing but static played over some sugar-pop music. Brenda rolled her eyes at herself. Layering the ordinary car radio over the police radio was just asking for a headache.

She reached her home without incident, or hearing anything on the police radio. She turned off the car with relief, and carried the pizza inside.

Rhonwen met her at the door, sniffing at Brenda's leg and then looking up at Brenda's face. Apparently satisfied, the houndoom left Brenda.

Brenda watched Rhonwen leave, and then looked over at the computer. As she expected, Mewtwo was seated in front of the computer screen, hunched over. It was mildly disturbing to see the keyboard keys move without fingers pressing on them, but Brenda was getting used to it.

Getting used to something a psychic did. Now there was a scary thought.

"You only get pizza if you leave the computer," Brenda said.

Mewtwo looked over his shoulder and glared. _(Oh, very well.)_

"I still think you should try the three cheese pizza. It wouldn't offend your vegetarian mentality at all." Brenda pulled her chair from the kitchen table with one foot, and held out Mewtwo's pizza.

Bastard.

Her bastard, though, which made it bearable.

Brenda realized that Mewtwo was regarding her oddly, and she glared back. Had she been projecting again? Damn bastard should keep from looking at her thoughts.

_(You're very quiet tonight, Detective.)_

Brenda relaxed slightly. "Well, let's see. To date, we've been mopping up what's left of Team Rocket- not exactly a strenuous job, when you get right down to it- and other then that, nothing. No excitement."

_(Investigating murders is excitement?)_

"That isn't what I meant and you know it. I just… I don't know." Brenda frowned, and bit into her pizza. Once she'd swallowed, she continued. "It's just this weird restless feeling. I think we'll have work tomorrow. People will use any excuse to murder, and with the weather like this, we'll be run ragged."

_(If you say so.)_ Mewtwo completed his third slice of pizza, and started on the fourth. Brenda just rolled her eyes.

Uppity psychics, able to eat and talk at the same time… Damn them.

Mewtwo smirked.

**Sunday**

"Brenda!"

Brenda looked up. She had been eyeing a houseplant Mewtwo had conned her into getting. It was very healthy, very green, and on her desk.

She wasn't sure she was going to be able to stand looking at something so- alive and cheerful.

"What?"

Officer Doyle clasped his hands behind his back. "You're wanted to go to the pokemon league. There's been a murder."

"Well, damn." Brenda stood up and snapped her fingers at Officer Smith. "We're going."

"Yes, sir." Officer Smith stood up, and followed Brenda down the hall towards the garage.

_(Do you even know where in the pokemon league we have to go?)_

"Nope," Brenda muttered. She sounded cheerful when she added, "This way I get to piss off a couple officials in order to find out."

Mewtwo chuckled, and pretended to be studying the ceiling when she glanced over at him.

**Sunday**

Brenda folded her arms, and glared at the security guard. "I don't think you understand," she said. "I'm expected."

"I called in," The guard said back. "They aren't expecting a Johnson. Now get going before I run you off."

Brenda smiled, as sweetly as she could, before pulling her badge. "No, I really am expected. Now why don't you run along and find a dead body, hm? I've been told there's one around here somewhere."

The guard's eyes bulged, but he saluted and left. Brenda watched him go, dropping her badge back into her pocket.

_(You could have let me take care of him,)_ Mewtwo said.

Brenda glanced around. She couldn't see him, but that was no surprise. Physically, he was nowhere near her. 'And ruin my fun?' she thought, trying to project.

Apparently, she managed it. _(There is no need to shout,)_ he said. _(And it would have been fun for me.)_

'Precisely.'

Brenda smiled at the silence, and knocked on a large, red door. There was a plaque reading 'General Management'. General management, in Brenda's opinion, knew everything that was going on and had no power to do anything about it.

The appearance of a police officer would either delight or horrify the person behind the door.

Brenda was hoping for horrified.

**Sunday**

Mewtwo crouched in an out of the way corner- on the roof- and glared down at the battle fields.

_This_ was what he'd been created for. _Battle_, for the glory of human masters, so that the humans could profit and he would get- nothing. Less then nothing, for the pokemon on the field at least had empty praises when they won. He, on the other hand, would be put away until it was time to fight again.

_Oh, grow up,_ a mental voice told him. It sounded suspiciously like the Detective.

He shifted, suddenly uncomfortable hiding away. Yes, there were humans down there, trainers, who would want to catch him for their slavery. He could fight them, or he could use his illusion to look like one of them. Except for the fact that the humans were packed together cheek by jowl, and while he could make them all believe he _appeared_ human, with this many minds to- adjust- he couldn't make them believe he _felt_ human.

Thus why he was hiding on the roof, he supposed.

He clenched his jaw and began sifting through the minds below for information. The Detective would most likely disapprove of any action, but the sooner they found the killer, the sooner he would be able to leave the pokemon league.

He recoiled when he realized that any of the humans could have killed. The trainers especially thought violently towards their opponents.

'_-break its leg and he'll be out one-'_

'_-twist his dick off and make him eat-'_

'_-how dare he how dare he how-'_

Mewtwo stopped sifting through the minds and shuddered. They could not find the killer that way.

'Mewtwo?'

_(Here,)_ he sent, relieved to sense the Detective's unique mental signature. Feeling like he was being torn to pieces on her mental defenses was preferable to feeling like he was wading through sludge. Humans were disgusting, violent minded brutes. The Detective was only slightly better. _(Do you know where we must go?)_

'Yes,' the Detective thought. Mewtwo caught other thoughts- a string of swear words, contemplation on whether or not to kick the fat man out of her way, and her own irritation with all things psychic- and ignored them. They didn't matter. 'Meet me at the residential building as soon as I find it.'

Mewtwo looked around from his perch, and looked back down towards the Detective. He couldn't see her in the crush of people, but he did know where she was. _(If you turn- left, I believe- and go straight, you'll just have to walk to the end of the street.)_

The Detective didn't project any thanks to him. He hadn't expected her to.

He teleported to the roof of the residential building, and waited. The Detective was still several minutes away. He didn't have to go down to the streets just yet.

He didn't want to have to see her, to use his illusion to appear human.

He had no choice.

Mewtwo teleported to the street, his illusion in place. The Detective glanced at him, one eyebrow quirking upwards in some indecipherable emotion. Mewtwo looked away, his tail lashing unseen behind him.

"Let's go," he said.

"Sure," the Detective replied. "Third floor, room 398."

Mewtwo nodded and led the way. The briefest of touches to one of the many security guards' mind told him how to get to room 398.

The ride upwards in the elevator was silent and awkward. Mewtwo stared into the mirrored wall. The Detective, he knew, would see his illusion. All he could see was himself.

"I don't like pokemon training much either," the Detective said.

Mewtwo nearly wrenched his neck, looking over at her so quickly. _(What?)_

The Detective stared back at him. "It's slavery," she said.

_(Detective, I-)_

"By this point, I think you can call me Brenda."

Mewtwo bowed his head, and looked at the mirror again. He didn't know what to say. He didn't know what to do.

The Detective did seem to enjoy keeping him off balance.

"Well, here we are. Third floor, and it's straight ahead to the murder room."

Mewtwo shook his head and followed. At this point, he figured, there was nothing much else he _could_ do.

Except stand for the dead, as the Detective did.


	2. Beginning

**Sunday**

"Record on, Smith."

Mewtwo switched the small, recording device on, and kept it at his 'shirt lapel' with telekinesis. "Record on, sir."

The Detective nodded, and stated the date, the time, and the fact that they were standing in a hallway. Then she opened the door.

Mewtwo almost flinched at the scent of blood. His stomach rolled, and bile rose to the back of his throat.

Vegetarians made bad homicide cops, as he'd already found out.

He looked up from the floor, and gasped. Blood was splattered on the walls, the ceiling, and the furniture. More had pooled under the body.

The Detective's face was set, her eyes bright and steel hard. Mewtwo looked back at the child's body, wishing he could feel the same.

The Detective walked over to the body and crouched down. "Smith, get over here, tell me what you see."

Mewtwo did his best to avoid stepping in the blood. In the end, he levitated just the slightest amount, until he reached the Detective's side.

"Multiple stab wounds, sir," he said. His voice didn't tremble, thankfully. "Centered on the shoulders and neck."

"Yeah. Must have hit the carotid artery, for this much blood." The Detective looked around the room. "The human heart can spray blood around fifteen feet or so."

"You're just filled with fun factoids, aren't you?" Mewtwo shook his head. "So you suspect the child just bled out?"

"I count at least seven stab wounds, Smith, and there are probably more. What do you think?" The Detective stood up and frowned.

"Alright, so the child didn't just bleed out from one wound."

"What I want to know is where the pokemon went." The Detective slanted a look up at Mewtwo. "The only people who can check into this place are trainers, or staff."

Mewtwo felt his hackles rise. Trainers. Suddenly the dead child seemed a lot more sinister. "Maybe the killer took them? It might be a fanatic who hates pokemon training."

"Maybe. Or maybe the kid's pokemon killed him." The Detective shook her head. "We have to consider it."

Mewtwo shook his head in automatic denial. "Only if the pokemon can hold knives."

"A few pokemon can."

"There are times when I don't like your logic," Mewtwo muttered.

"Did the trainer let the killer in? Or did the killer let himself in?" The Detective walked over to the window. Mewtwo followed, and looked down at a small courtyard. A young girl was sunning herself while two of her pokemon battled each other.

The Detective bent over and studied the window. "We're three stories up, but you never know… I don't see any marks that would show the window was forced."

Mewtwo looked at the sill, and shook his head. He wouldn't understand how the Detective could say something like that. "But it's scratched up. Shouldn't that imply the use of a crow bar or something?"

"Good question, Smith. Now I get to poke holes in your logic." The Detective pointed at several pock marks. "Claw marks, some flying type, possibly a pidgeot or swellow. Fearow wouldn't fit through the window. And here-" She pointed at the scratch marks Mewtwo had noticed. "-I'd say it's the flying type again, dragging its claws or turning around. It's not a big window, there's not a lot of room to move."

Mewtwo looked down at his feet. "Ah," he said.

"It was a good deduction, though." The Detective patted his shoulder. "A few years and you'll be right."

He just kept from snorting. A few years and he would be gone, instead of pretending to be a human cop.

As if the Detective was a mind reader, she smiled. "It's pretty addicting, being a cop. Especially when you're good at it."

"Yes sir." The blood and bodies made him want to puke.

"Let's go find out whose room this is. Doesn't mean that the victim is supposed to be here, but we can pull a list of missing trainers as well."

"Why would we want a list of-"

"This many people, someone always goes missing. I wouldn't be surprised if a few of the missing were dead."

Mewtwo blinked, and shook his head. "What? Why?"

"Illness, accident, or murder." Brenda waved one hand at the dead trainer, and nodded towards the junior coroner who had just arrived. "Afternoon, Dan."

"Brenda. I'd have to say the poor kid was a pain in somebody's neck." Dan nodded towards the body. "Did you find the knife?"

"No. I'm hoping crime scene does. I have to hunt down a list of missing persons."

"Luck to you, the slaking at the front didn't want to let me through."

The Detective nodded, and tugged Mewtwo after her. He glanced back once at the coroner, and frowned.

"Why was he so glib?"

"Give him a break, he cuts up dead people for a living."

The Detective led the way down to the first floor. "Hey, you! Guard-man! Who's your boss?"

The guard looked over at Mewtwo first, and frowned. Apparently he didn't like having to look up to meet someone's eye.

Then the guard looked down, and he began to sneer at the Detective.

The Detective moved before Mewtwo even realized it. She had tripped, or flipped, the guard onto his back. She hovered over the man with her badge shoved in his face.

"Do you see this? It means I outrank you. It means you smile, tell me what I want to know, and salute when you're done." The Detective leaned back, and scowled down at the guard. "Now stand up and tell me where your boss is."

The guard nodded and stood up. "Head of security, ma'am, or the chairman of the board?"

The Detective smiled. "Head of security."

Mewtwo forced himself to hold still, and _not_ laugh. The guard looked like he was taking being ordered around in stride, but Mewtwo could sense his horror. The Detective did have that effect on people, Mewtwo mused. It was amusing to watch.

"That would be George Demonte. His office is in the main building. Straight ahead, your third left, and then your first right. It has a sign right in front, you can't miss it."

The Detective raised her eyebrows, but nodded. "Good. Continue your job- but let my people through. The coroner wasn't very happy about being stopped."

The guard blushed.

Brenda started walking.

_(Detective. I'm going to teleport to our destination, if that is alright with you.)_

The Detective glanced over her shoulder and frowned. "Why?" she muttered. He heard her well enough, even with the noise of the crowd.

Mewtwo nodded his head towards the mess of people. _(I cannot edit the perceptions of all of them. If they all saw Officer Smith, then bumped into me, they would know me for a pokemon. However, if I do not edit their sight, then one or two trainers might know me for a pokemon and sound the alarm, such as it is.)_

"In other words, you've had too much time to think about this," the Detective murmured. "Fine, teleport away. You can find the building, can't you?"

_(Easier then you will,)_ he said.

Mewtwo ignored the Detective's snort, and walked towards a small alley between two residential buildings. He used the scant privacy to teleport up to one of the roofs.

He dropped his illusion with a sigh. The police recorder, almost forgotten, dropped off his body. Mewtwo caught it before it hit the roof and broke, or something.

He frowned. It hadn't been turned off.

Mewtwo turned the recorder off, then rewound it slightly. When the Detective next used it, their conversation, such as it was, would be erased.

She would be furious if she found out, but he couldn't risk his own security.

He teleported to the next roof, following the directions the guard had given. He looked down at the ground and nodded. He could see the sign for the main building where he stood.

He teleported to the main building, and then down behind it. The only thing that saw him unshielded was a rattata, and it ran away the moment he appeared.

Mewtwo stared after the pokemon, and frowned. That was the first wild pokemon he'd seen. Normally any place that was filled with humans was a haven for rattata, meowth, and other pokemon that could scavenge.

Safe behind his illusion, Mewtwo stepped out onto the street. He leaned up against the sign, and waited.

The Detective elbowed her way out of the crowd, her face red. Mewtwo noticed she was limping very slightly. Obviously she wasn't ready for walking so much, through the crowds, just yet.

"Detective." Mewtwo held out his hand. "Do you need assistance?"

"Screw off!"

Mewtwo looked away. She could have just said no.

"Come on," the Detective growled. "Let's go make some asshole's day."

Mewtwo resigned himself to being her shadow for the rest of the day.

It promised to be interesting, at least.

**Sunday**

"I want a list of any missing trainers."

Brenda folded her arms. Mr. Demonte, the same bozo she'd ordered around outside of general management, mimicked her. On his two-hundred pound plus frame, it looked much more intimidating.

Brenda consoled herself that she could have him flat on the ground in ten seconds.

"Do you have a warrant?"

"I can get one. It would be bad press though, wouldn't you agree?" Brenda smiled, as if she were just commenting on the weather. "On the other hand, if you agreed to be helpful and just handed over the list, we can avoid that unpleasantness."

"Are you threatening to go to the press?"

"I'm saying that I'll have to talk to them sometime. High profile case, it gets reporters interest." Which wasn't to say she couldn't avoid them. She hadn't talked to any reporters during the dragon-type case, after all.

"So you're threatening to mention a warrant, if I don't give you what you want."

"So glad we understand each other."

Mr. Demonte nodded, and turned on his computer monitor. "It will just take me ten minutes."

"I have the time." And it was nice to rest her leg. Brenda was beginning to regret snapping at Mewtwo earlier. She'd have to find some way to make it up to him.

Brenda was brought out of her thoughts by the sound of a printer. Mr. Demonte smiled, and handed over three sheets.

"Here you are, ma'am. Most of the trainers dropped out, as I'm sure you'll find."

"I'm sure I'll find something. Thank you for your help." Brenda passed the papers over to Smith, and levered herself up from the chair. Her leg gave a twinge, and she frowned.

"Just find the killer, please. We can't have any disruption to the championship."

Brenda glanced back at Mr. Demonte. "Right," she said. "Just sweep the pesky matter of murder aside. We'll see."

Brenda left the room, her head held high. Smith followed her, the papers tucked away inside his jacket.

**Sunday**

"Perhaps I should drive, Detective," Mewtwo suggested. "You appear… tense."

"Do you have a license? No? Then you're not getting behind the wheel." The Detective glanced at Mewtwo. "Besides," she muttered. "Wouldn't it hurt your tail?"

_(Not in the least,)_ he lied. _(Besides.)_ He hesitated. Did he dare say it? _(You… seem to be in pain.)_

The Detective growled, but didn't answer. She didn't start mentally swearing at him, either, though her mental defenses strengthened. He looked away; that only happened when she was angry.

He didn't know if she understood what she did, or simply acted out of instinct and the belief that psychics could choose to sense other people's minds.

He was very glad that she hadn't.

"Alright, what is it? Spill or I start singing."

_(Detective? I don't understand.)_

The Detective sighed, and shook her head. "You're sitting over there moping. Your illusion looks flat, so don't start staring at me and wondering just how I know."

_(I was _not_ moping!)_ he said, stung. _(I was thinking!)_

"About something depressing, obviously. You stopped talking right before we went into the main building. What happened?"

Mewtwo looked down at the list of missing people. _(We forgot to get the dead trainer's name,)_ he said.

"No, you just missed the phone call because you were teleporting. They found his trainer's license, bedside table. One Michael Adams, eleven years old, from Pallet Town."

_(I see.)_

"That doesn't answer why you fell silent."

Mewtwo refused to look over at the Detective. He didn't have to answer to her. He was here as a favor to her, because it was mostly his fault she had been injured. If he had been stronger- no, if he had gone to the Rocket base sooner- she would not have been hurt. She would not have known that there was a Rocket base there, or that he existed.

Of course, he wouldn't have known she existed either. Would that have changed him?

"Mewtwo…" The Detective's voice was low. "I mean it, I will sing. Not nicely either."

_(Detective… Please. I just want to-)_

"-Be left alone? I don't think so. If you're going to be depressed, you're going to tell me why."

His tail twitched, beginning to cramp from being pressed up against the seat. _(I…)_

"Well?"

_(I only offered to help you! You didn't have to bite my head off!)_

The car jerked. Mewtwo turned to face the Detective, who was staring at him.

_(Eyes on the road!)_

The Detective turned the car into a parking lot. She parked, but left the car running.

"Alright," she said. "I'm only going to say this once. If you need me to repeat it, I will be very upset with you."

He knew his eyes were glowing. _(I'm listening.)_

"Good. I have never, and you can check with Alison about this, asked anyone for help. Any time it's been offered, I always bite someone's head off. Always. I broke one of my foster parent's nose, once. But if I ever had to accept help, it'd be from you. Now stop sulking."

Mewtwo blinked at her. Just what did she mean by that? That he shouldn't take it personally, when she snarled at him? It was hard not to do that!

The Detective rolled her eyes as he continued to stare. "Whatever. Let's go find out who's dead and who's simply run off to get married."

_(…What?)_

"Mewtwo… Seriously, my patience is running thin. List. Murder victim. We investigate. Are you following or should I use smaller words?"

Mewtwo looked away. _(I understand,)_ he murmured.

**Sunday**

Brenda frowned at the list of missing. She had grabbed three police officers assigned to traffic, and set them to hunting down the missing trainers. There was one name, though, Medea Velde, that had the word 'deceased' beside it in brackets.

Brenda cracked her knuckles and opened the police file database. She typed in the name, and pressed enter. If there was a record on Medea Velde anywhere in the database, it would be found.

Rather, if her computer didn't freeze, it would be found.

Brenda pounded her fist against the computer tower, and snarled. Now the screen was a bright, eye searing red.

"Smith!"

"Yes, Detective?"

"Fix the damn computer before I chuck it onto the freeway."

"Yes sir."

Mewtwo sat down in front of the computer. Brenda went to get herself coffee.

If Mewtwo couldn't fix the damn computer, she figured she'd just have to kill everyone who worked in Requisitions. They said they'd fixed the problem, and what happened? A week later it froze again!

"Detective, I think you'll find the computer is working again."

Brenda nodded and poured herself coffee. "It's completing the search?"

Was that a flash of purple in Mewtwo's illusion-hidden eyes? "Yes, sir."

"Good. Get back to work."

Mewtwo sighed. "Yes, sir."

Brenda sat back down at her desk, and stared at the potted plant. It looked like it could use some coffee. Brenda poured some of her coffee into the pot and then looked back at the computer screen.

There was one police report on a Velde, Medea. Brenda clicked the link, and began to read.

A half hour later, she was finished. Brenda sighed, and printed the report anyways. It was a shame about Velde, but there was nothing ominous about falling down the stairs. Brenda didn't even know why she was printing the report. It was closed.

Then again, Velde had died on league premises. Brenda needed the report.

"Smith, we're going." Brenda stood up and stretched. The bones in her back cracked, and her leg spasmed. She caught herself from falling over, and scowled. There didn't seem to be anyone in ear shot, but she didn't want to risk being overheard anyways.

'You wanted to help me out? Could you just… make it so I can walk to the car and drive home?'

Mewtwo blinked at her, his eyes turning purple in his shock. _(Ah, certainly, Detective. I can levitate you off the floor, not enough to be noticeable.)_

Brenda nodded, and rubbed one hand against her leg. She didn't feel any different, except that when she stepped on her sore leg, it didn't spasm.

"Thanks," she muttered. "Let's go."

"Of course, Detective. Did you find anything in the lists?"

"Just Medea Velde, deceased. She fell down the stairs and broke her neck, before the championship even began."

"That's…"

"Yeah." Brenda shook her head. "Carmichael, I don't know if you've heard of him, took the case. He did a good job, too. The main witness said Velde slipped on the steps, tumbled backwards, and that she wasn't moving when he ran over to her." Brenda leaned against a wall, waiting for the elevator. "Velde had a broken neck, was dead on scene."

Mewtwo nodded, and moved closer. _(Detective, I don't think you can drive. I don't think you can get to the car, can you?)_

Brenda sucked in a breath, let it out in a snarl. "No."

_(I can teleport us to your home. Your car as well.)_

"The cameras." Her leg was spasming again. She needed her pain medications, and to not walk around all day tomorrow.

Maybe she'd take a vacation- not while a person was dead, she reminded herself.

_(Detective? Detective, I really think I should teleport you home now.)_

The pain was almost as bad as when she'd gotten burned. "Fine."

The world disappeared into a rush of blue.

**End Notes**

Due to a mistake, I uploaded chapter three instead of chapter two. Enjoy chapter two in its rightful place, and chapter three. All I can say is 'oops!'


	3. Tension

**Monday**

_(Detective? You must wake up.)_ Mewtwo crouched at the Detective's bedside, his ears assaulted by the shrill sound of the ringing telephone. _(I am not supposed to be here. You must wake up and answer the phone.)_

The Detective mumbled something uncomplimentary and waved her hand in the direction of her bedside table. Mewtwo picked up the phone and put it in her hand.

"Wha? Whozit?" The Detective leveraged herself up on her free arm, and glanced at Mewtwo. "Where?" She began making faces at him, unable to simply tell him to leave.

Mewtwo kept his smile to himself. There were very few times when the Detective was unable to voice her opinion- loudly- and each moment was something to savor.

_(Is something wrong, Detective?)_ he asked.

She bared her teeth at him, barely keeping from snarling. "What? Alright, I'll be there. ETA forty minutes."

The Detective put the phone down, and glared at Mewtwo. "Why the fuck would they schedule two trainers to fight at three in the goddamn morning?"

_(Detective, it's afternoon.)_

"Well, shit." The Detective shook her head, and growled. "Get out of my room, or I'll feed you your own eyeballs."

Mewtwo stood up, and looked down on the Detective. _(Why forty minutes?)_

"Shower, clothing, food, then driving. Out!"

Mewtwo ducked a thrown pillow, and headed for the living room. He could hear the Detective's muttered curses as she got out of bed.

Maybe he shouldn't have let her sleep so late, but she had seemed to need it. That the _Detective_ would _ask_ him to use his psychic powers to help her… a few days earlier he would have laughed at the thought. The Detective tolerated him only because he was useful. Who else would chase after running suspects like some pet growlithe, fix her computer, and fetch her coffee?

No one would do all three, he thought bleakly. Not if they wanted to keep their dignity.

"Smith, get moving. We've got another murder."

'My name is Mewtwo', he thought. Not that he could ever tell her that.

**Monday**

The Detective glanced at Mewtwo. "Stay close," she warned. "Don't go jumping all over the place."

He looked around the nearly empty street. "That shouldn't be a problem," he said.

"Good."

The Detective led the way towards the residential building. She was limping a little, still not recovered from the day before.

They passed a security guard, the lobby, and stepped into the elevator. Mewtwo leaned in a corner and watched the Detective. "Do you even know where you're going?"

"Of course I do!" The Detective scowled at him. "Fourth floor, room 412." The Detective looked back at the elevator doors. "This is really pissing me off," she muttered.

Mewtwo looked away. What was upsetting her, he wondered. The murders, or his questions?

The elevator stopped, and the doors slid open. Before Mewtwo could shove away from his corner, the Detective was already walking down one of the halls. Mewtwo hurried after, his paws clenched into fists.

She stopped in front of the correct door. "After you," she said, her expression bland.

Mewtwo nodded, and opened the door.

He stepped into a war room.

There were a lot of tables, the majority of them tipped over onto the floor. The television had been knocked off its stand.

The trainer lay sprawled on the floor. Her eyes were wide open, stained red in death. Her cheeks and forehead were mottled from broken blood vessels just beneath the skin. Death had loosened her bowels and bladder, leaving her to lie in a stinking mess. She wore only a bathrobe and slippers.

Her robe tie was still around her neck.

Mewtwo froze in the doorway. His stomach tried to claw its way up his throat.

"Move, you idiot." The Detective shoved him out of the way, then glanced at the girl.

"Yeah, strangulation does that. Ignore the mess and help me search the room."

"I- what?" Mewtwo tore his gaze from the trainer with difficulty. "Detective, what are we looking for?"

"Signs that she fought back." The Detective crouched down at the girl's side. Mewtwo backed up when the Detective got down on her hands and knees, and studied the fingers.

"Something under the nails. She might've gotten in a good scratch or two."

"Please explain," Mewtwo said.

The Detective put the girl's hand back down. "Skin cells. If the trainer's managed to rake her fingernails across her attacker's face or neck or whatever, then we might have DNA evidence."

"Which means we can convict the criminal." Mewtwo nodded, and smiled. "I see."

"Which means we'll have evidence," the Detective corrected. "Just because DNA matches doesn't mean it's a slam dunk conviction, especially if there's any chance that identical twins are involved."

Mewtwo lifted his eyebrows, and frowned. "You think the killer might have an identical twin?"

The Detective chuckled. "The stories I could tell," she said. "Come on, let's keep looking. See if you can find her trainer's license or pokeballs or anything."

Mewtwo nodded, and walked around the edge of the room. In one corner, he found a trainer's belt. There were no pokeballs.

The Detective stepped out of the trainer's bedroom. "Did you find anything?"

"Just this." Mewtwo held the belt up for inspection.

"Put that back where you found it!" the Detective snapped. "Don't interfere with the scene, you idiot!"

Mewtwo jumped, and put the belt back. "Sorry," he muttered.

The Detective shook her head, and frowned. "I found the trainer's license," she said. "Heather Fiest, from New Bark Town. Fourteen years old."

The Detective inclined her head towards the body. "We should go, let Dan take care of it. I think we'd better harass Mr. Demonte for more then just a list of missing trainers."

"You suspect something," Mewtwo said.

"I always suspect something. Come on, we'll try and see if I'm right."

**Monday**

Mewtwo stayed as much in the background as was possible. Mr. Demonte let the Detective into his office, and Mewtwo followed. Mewtwo stopped at the door, and waited.

"Sit down, Ms. Johnson, please." Mr. Demonte sat down behind his desk. "What can I do for you?"

"Another trainer's dead."

"I am aware of that, Ms. Johnson. When Miss. Fiest didn't show up for her scheduled challenge, one of my men was sent looking for her."

The Detective frowned. "You didn't know anything had happened to her before then?"

Mr. Demonte spread his hands. "Ms. Johnson. Trainers may call for room service, or go get something from a vender, but in my experience they don't normally eat before a battle. Nerves, you know."

Mewtwo narrowed his eyes. Humans did not battle, pokemon did.

"So you thought nothing of Miss. Fiest before she went missing."

"That is correct."

"I'm going to need your battle charts."

"I beg your pardon?"

The Detective narrowed her eyes and leaned forward. "It's not enough to have lists of missing trainers. I need to know who they were going to fight, if they won."

"You think a trainer is killing other trainers? _Why_?"

"When the only way to win is to clear the board, you'd be surprised what a person can do." The Detective's hand clenched into a fist, pressed down on her leg. "I want to see if there's a connection."

"There won't be," Mr. Demonte spat. "You'll need a warrant. Those charts are private domain, and we can't just hand them out."

"Why?" The Detective tilted her head. "It's all been decided, the trainers aren't allowed to switch out pokemon now."

"Just because they're not allowed doesn't mean they won't do it," Mr. Demonte said. "Murder is not allowed, but if everyone followed the letter of the law you would be out of a job."

"That's a day I'll celebrate."

"I simply cannot help you. Get a warrant, Ms. Johnson. That is all I can say."

"I suppose a list of the trainer's pokemon- every trainer, even the ones who dropped out, went missing, whatever- is also out of the question?"

"A warrant, Ms. Johnson." Mr. Demonte frowned. "Now, if you will please leave, I'm a very busy man and with these murders, things are only becoming more hectic."

The Detective inclined her head. "I'll see you with a warrant," she said. "Come, Smith."

_(What am I, a canine?)_ Mewtwo growled.

The Detective glared at him. "Car," she muttered.

_(Come here, sit there, stay, fetch me coffee…)_ he muttered. _(I think you're getting your species mixed up.)_

The Detective shook her head. "Jackass."

_(Not quite.)_

"Close enough for me. Let's go harass a few lawyers now."

"This should be interesting," he said.

The Detective chuckled. "You have no idea."

**Monday**

Brenda swaggered into what was affectionately called 'the hell hole' and smiled at five lawyers. "Alright, piss for brains, here's how it's going to work. You get me a couple warrants, I won't feed you your own eyeballs."

The amused psychic standing just behind her didn't offer a comment. He didn't need to. Brenda could sense how his mood was already starting to lighten, and it was about time too. She worked with the slime of humanity most days, she didn't need a wanna-be teen-hormone-basket case as well.

The lawyers all looked up, almost as one- giving her a very creepy flashback to two months ago- and saw her.

Brenda's grin widened, and she headed towards the closest one. "Here's what I need," she said. "The pokemon league have been dealing with a few very messy murders lately, and I need a few confidential pieces of paper. Apparently the police aren't considered good enough to keep the info secret."

She pointed at one of the Devil's Workers. "You, keep the press off my back. If my name gets leaked, sue. The budget could use the help." She looked around the room. "The rest of you, draw lots to see who gets to get me warrants."

"Oh, don't be a silly farfetch'd, Brenda dear. Sit down, sit down, tell me what you need."

Brenda almost flinched. She gestured to Mewtwo, and walked over to sit in front of the lawyer's desk. A few seconds later, Mewtwo sat beside her in a second chair.

"Hello, Mara-anni." Brenda bowed her head in what she thought was the proper form. "It's, ah, good to see you?"

Mara smiled, her eyes almost disappearing into the folds and wrinkles of age. "Brenda, have I not told you there is no need to be so formal with me? Or would you prefer I call you Johnson-sama?"

"Brenda's fine," she said, just hiding a wince. "This is my partner, Vahan Smith."

Mara nodded, and held out one hand. "Hello, Smith. It is good to meet you."

Mewtwo glanced at Brenda, before accepting Mara's hand. "It is very good to meet you as well," he said. He gave the impression of bowing over Mara's hand, though he barely moved.

Brenda seethed. Didn't he know that you didn't give the lawyers an inch? If you did, they'd take a mile, claim they'd strained a muscle doing so, and then sue you.

Mara smiled at the two of them, and reclaimed her hand. "So, Brenda, why don't you tell me what you need and why?"

Brenda nodded, and began talking. It was almost like making a report to Captain Dallas, except this was a soul-sucking fiend intent on world destruction.

Actually, it was _exactly_ like making a report to Captain Dallas.

Mara folded her hands on her desk, and listened. Brenda had summed up the two days in twice as many minutes.

"So, you think there may be a connection between the two trainers deaths?"

"Yes, I do."

"Perhaps their pokemon, perhaps who they were going to fight? Will you close other avenues of investigation?"

Brenda scowled. "Of course not," she snapped. "I'm merely trying to get a warrant for the most likely motive."

"Clear the board to win? Yes, it sounds likely, if the killer has no care for other lives."

"There are those," Mewtwo said. "Such as the late Rocketto."

Mara glanced towards Mewtwo, and inclined her head. "The wards for the criminally insane are full of such people, yes. Very well, Brenda, I will get you those warrants." She pulled open a drawer, and held out a candy tin. "Help yourself!"

Brenda narrowed her eyes, but selected a candy. Butterscotch, her favorite. "Thank you."

"No thank you," Mewtwo said.

Mara nodded, and replaced the tin. "Very well. I should have a warrant for you in a few hours. Go do your work, Brenda. I'm sure you unfortunately have a lot of it."

Brenda nodded, and stood up. "Thank you, Mara-anni. Have fun."

Mara chuckled, and waved them off.

_(Alright, explain.)_

"Maybe you shouldn't use your telepathy around other cops," Brenda muttered.

"Fine. Why were you thinking of that place as 'the hell hole'?"

"Lawyer pit. You get a bunch of them in one place, it sucks all the joy and goodness out of the entire area."

Mewtwo made a sound that might have been a muffled laugh, or might have been a cough. "Detective, I think lawyers are just as human as the rest of us."

Brenda favored him a look heavy in irony. "Well, as human as I am, anyways."

Mewtwo frowned and looked away.

Brenda held up the butterscotch candy, and scowled. "I think she poisons these things."

"Detective, you're being paranoid again."

She smiled at the humor in Mewtwo's voice. "I am not!"

"Well, if you don't want it…" Mewtwo reached for the candy.

"No, mine!"

Brenda saw Mewtwo roll his eyes, and savored the taste of victory. Oddly, it tasted like the butterscotch candy.

Score one for the cop, she thought, and zero for teen-angst.

**Monday**

Brenda answered her phone without thinking. "Whoever the fuck you are, screw off."

"Is that any way to talk to me, after I got your warrants? Brenda, I am shocked."

She felt- honestly felt- the blood drain from her face. "Mara-anni! I'm sorry, I didn't know it was you."

"That is still a rude way to answer the phone."

"I'm sorry."

"Well, never mind. I'm faxing you the warrants. I trust you will not be by the fax machine?"

Brenda gestured at Mewtwo, and then pointed towards the machine. "Now I won't be."

"Good, the fax might just go through, then."

Brenda ignored the attack on her skills with machinery. Her car still ran, didn't it? "The warrants are for the charts and the lists?"

"I tried to make it as open ended as possible. All previous charts and lists, all the charts and lists that are currently made up, and if any more are made during the course of your investigation, all of those as well."

"Thank you, Mara." Brenda kept her eyes on Mewtwo. She knew exactly when the fax came through, just by how he jumped. "Faxes just showed up. I'm going to go serve them."

"Have fun, dear."

Brenda just kept from twitching. 'Dear'. Lawyers really were the scum of the universe.

"You got the warrants, Smith? Let's go."

**End Notes**

Hello, loyal readers. I have several things to say. First- go read anything written by CalliopeMused. Mostly because she's my beta reader, partly because she's a freakishly good writer, and finally because you have no reason not to. She's in my favorites. Go there now. Second- as I'm sure you've noticed, it's September. For those prisoners such as myself, that means school has started and is beginning the ten month process of grinding its captives down. That, and I took several extremely demanding courses (which are, at least, fun) that cut into what time I have to write.

Most of the time I have to write goes to my original work. I currently have two fanfictions being updated- this one, and Demon of the Opera. That means time spent writing on Jok is split in half, because I do have to write on Opera too. So expect updates to be spread out, unless it's the weekend and I get a crazy amount of insperation, alright?

That said, enough bellyaching. Leave a review, would you? Thanks.


	4. Set

**Monday**

Brenda was a woman on a mission. She entered Mr. Demonte's office, and shoved the warrants at his face.

"Here's your warrants. I want all charts involving this year's championship, and lists of the trainer's pokemon. You can print them out now and give them to my aide, or hand over the originals. I'm sure you have copies."

Brenda glanced over at Smith, and smiled. Right where he was supposed to be, waiting to receive an armload of paper.

She looked back in time to see Mr. Demonte stand up, his face turning bright red.

"I do not like your tone of voice, Ms. Johnson, or your turn of phrase. These are confidential-"

"Officer Smith, it seems Mr. Demonte doesn't think the police can keep a secret," Brenda said, willing Mewtwo to clue in on the joke.

Mewtwo smiled, and shook his head. "We were charged to keep the peace, Detective, but secrets are apparently beyond us."

Brenda looked back at Mr. Demonte, her voice chilling. "You will give us these files, or be arrested for obstruction of justice."

Mr. Demonte bared his teeth in a scowl, but turned to his computer. "I just need to print these off."

"Thank you." Brenda folded her arms. She wouldn't be satisfied until the case had been solved. Mewtwo's unsaid dislike for the league was beginning to get to her.

She took a careful step away from the printer when it began to whirr. Apart from that sound, the room was silent. Brenda wasn't willing to talk to Mewtwo while Mr. Demonte was watching, and Mewtwo was obviously sensitive to her wishes. Mr. Demonte was silent, obviously seething.

Brenda would have preferred a round of insults, but had to content herself with simply staring at the man.

The printer finally stopped, and Brenda gestured to Mewtwo. "Gather it up and let's go."

Brenda was already leaving the room when she heard Mr. Demonte hiss something. She turned around, and lifted an eyebrow. "Did you say something?"

Mr. Demonte shook his head, and sat back down. "Nothing at all, Ms. Johnson. Now, I'm a very busy man, so if you'd get a move on?"

Brenda glanced at Mewtwo, but his illusion had a passive expression. She would have to question him later. "Let's go, Smith."

**Monday**

Mewtwo felt sick. He couldn't hear the Detective, just the two words Mr. Demonte had hissed.

"_Cop's bitch."_

He did everything on autopilot. Getting past the crowds, to the car, setting the files in the backseat and finally sitting down where he knew he could relax his illusion-

He couldn't tell her. She would become distracted from the case. She didn't allow herself to get distracted, in the normal course of things. Even television, the siren to every other humans, had no hold on her during a case.

He couldn't tell her what Mr. Demonte had said. Once she was through being angry at Mr. Demonte, she would turn her anger to him. The Detective had a tendency to judge people on what she would have done. That he had not stood up for himself would be cowardice to her. He didn't know if he could be able to stand her temper…

…or, for that matter, keep control of his own.

"I'm just going to drive you to the station, then come back. See what I can get just from observation. Take a look through the charts, from the very first to the latest, and the trainer lists. Pay attention to who the murdered trainers were going to fight."

"Of course, Detective." Mewtwo held his illusion, and lifted one eyebrow. "Why do I get such an important job?"

The Detective smiled, grim as death. "Because if I'm the one stuck with it, I'll throw my desk out the window and go on a shooting spree. At least this way, I know it'll get done."

Mewtwo nodded, and looked out the window. He wondered if he should feel complimented. "Don't worry, Detective, it will be done."

**Monday**

Brenda got into her car, and groaned. Her leg felt like she was back in Physical Therapy again, and her head was pounding. A day watching the league battles had resulted in nothing more then bruises and the desire- no, need- to hide away someplace dark and quiet.

She still had to pick up Mewtwo, though, which meant she had to deal with rush hour traffic on her way to the station house, and then away.

It had been a long day. Brenda couldn't even work up any irritation at the stupidity of her fellow drivers, just sat in the car. She turned off her police radio. If there was an emergency, there was no way she could get there, and if Mewtwo needed her, well, that was what cell phones were for. Simply because she couldn't stand the silence, she flipped on the radio.

A discussion of the traffic filled her car. Brenda sighed, and drummed her fingers against the wheel. She didn't need to hear about the jams, she was sitting in them. She didn't want to hear about how some morons had torn up one of the main roads- for the fifth time in a row- in order to 'fix' them. She wanted to listen to music, not disk jockeys.

Just before she turned the radio off, the music came on. Brenda paid more attention to the barely moving traffic then the songs, but it was something.

Something had been off about the whole day. Brenda wanted to figure out what it was, before it affected the investigation.

She would go over the lab reports the next morning, time permitting. Mewtwo was looking through the charts and lists, in a way only his technically inclined mind could. If the killer was kind, he would hold off until they were ready. If he wasn't- and killers usually weren't- then there would be another death very soon.

Brenda bit her lip, and turned off onto a side street. She would make better time driving off the main road.

She was tired, and sore, and felt like she was flailing in the dark. She couldn't let any of it get in the way.

Not if she wanted to continue to stand for the living.

**Tuesday**

"Wake up, Mewtwo."

Mewtwo cracked open one eye. _(Detective?)_ He'd _dreamed_ about battle charts. There were more of them waiting for him, at the office. At this rate his eyes were going to bleed.

"Breakfast is waiting, but you'd better eat fast. I want to get a jump on paperwork."

Mewtwo shook his head, and rolled off the couch. He straightened up and headed for the kitchen. The Detective had thoughtfully left a selection of fruit out on the table. It was normal, these days, for her to buy such foodstuff, but it made him smile none the less.

"Sometime this week, Vahan!"

_(One day, Detective, you will tell me just what that name means.)_

"Literally? Translates to 'Shield'. Now get a move on." The Detective stood at the front door, her arms crossed.

Mewtwo selected an apple, a pear, and a banana, and walked towards the Detective. _(I'm ready.)_

"Good." The Detective opened the door, and waited. Mewtwo pulled on his illusion, and headed to the car.

A quick twist of telekinesis, and Mewtwo had the door open without dropping anything. He slipped into the passenger seat, and used his telekinesis to close the door, and buckle the seat belt.

The Detective got in, and attempted to start the car. The motor coughed, turned over once, and died.

"Damn it."

She got out of the car, and walked around to the front. Mewtwo's eyes widened when she kicked the bumper, and suggested the car do something physically impossible for a human, let alone a mechanical construct.

_(Detective, I don't think that will work,)_ he said.

The Detective glanced over at him, and smirked. "You'd be surprised."

Mewtwo shook his head, and started eating his breakfast. She would just have to learn.

The car started without a hiccup. Mewtwo stared at the Detective, open mouthed.

"Illusion, Vahan," she said. "And finish your meal."

_(Uh, yes, of course.)_

Mewtwo shook his head, and looked out the window. The Detective turned the radio on, and muttered threats to the disk jockeys.

_(They've done nothing to you, Detective.)_

"They talk about nothing useful, Vahan. They've been tearing up that road every year for the past five years, and it's still broken. Anyone who cares about the pokemon league watches the TV, or reads the newspaper, or actually _goes_ there. And finally, who cares about celebrity gossip?"

He chuckled, and finished the last of his apple. _(Well, as to the last, I imagine the celebrities themselves, and the people who make money off of their exploits, care a great deal. The league tends to permit everything in Kanto. They obviously haven't figured out what's wrong with the road yet.)_

"There wouldn't _be_ a problem with the road, if they'd just pave it and stick some lines down."

_(Are you a civil engineer, Detective?)_

"Well, no," the Detective admitted. "But still. They're paid to fix the damn thing, so why isn't it fixed yet?"

_(I can't answer that question.)_

"Technically, it was a rhetorical question. I don't think any god in heaven or hell could answer it."

Mewtwo chuckled again, and relaxed. The silence was broken only by the radio station switching to music. Mewtwo rolled his eyes as 'YMCA' blared through the speakers.

"You know what, maybe it'd be better to listen to silence," the Detective said.

_(I find myself agreeing with you.)_

The Detective turned the radio off, and sighed. "We didn't talk about the case last night," she said.

_(You were tired.)_ And he'd had a headache from reading small print. _(It's understandable you would take a break.)_

"But I shouldn't. We've got two dead kids."

_(Detective, if you're tired, you'll miss details, won't you?)_

"I guess." She sighed. "Well, the lab reports are waiting, and you've got charts to look through."

Mewtwo nodded, and tensed slightly as the Detective steered the car into her parking space. "Yes. We should get to work."

The Detective eyed him, and shook her head. "Smith, is coffee good for plants?"

Mewtwo blinked. What had brought that on? "No, Detective, it's very bad."

Oddly enough, she looked relieved. "That explains why the damned thing's dying. I thought it was me."

**Tuesday**

Mewtwo shoved back from his desk, and groaned. "I think my eyes are bleeding."

"Stuff it, Smith." The Detective didn't look up from her pages of reports. "Unless, of course, you've found something useful."

"The league will be having conniptions if there are any more murders. They've already rescheduled the order of battles… eight times. One more and we might be called to investigate a work place shooting."

"That's nothing to joke about." The Detective leaned back in her chair. Mewtwo could hear her back crack. "Ugh. I guess we deserve a five minute break or so. Get yourself lunch, bring me back coffee."

Mewtwo nodded, and stood up. His own spine popped. "Yes, sir."

"None of the shit from the eatery, though. Get the good stuff."

His lips twitched before he could help it. "Got it, sir. The good stuff." Tim Horton's was close by, and cheap. He had money now, one of the most surprising parts of being a cop.

The Detective went back to her pages of reports.

**Tuesday**

It was the damnedest thing. Brenda watched Mewtwo in the manner of a predator studying its prey. He'd been in a good mood, gone out for lunch, and come back snarling.

He'd slammed a cup of coffee and a muffin on her desk- squashing the muffin and splashing coffee everywhere- and sat down at his desk as if his chair had deeply offended him. Brenda briefly considered that her own attitude had rubbed off on him, but that couldn't be it. Two months and he only started acting like she did after going down to Tim Horton's and buying coffee?

Something was wrong. Brenda considered dragging him to an interview room for a discussion, but the murders came first. With a last glance of misgiving, she looked back down at the lab reports.

"Detective!"

Brenda jumped, and nearly dropped the report she was reading. "What? Where?"

"Detective, come here."

"Did you find something?" Brenda didn't even care that she was following a subordinate's orders. This was important.

"Here. This is one of the first charts." Mewtwo's finger tapped a single square. "This is Medusa Velde. She was the one everyone expected to win. I looked at her team. She had no obvious weakness, she'd already beaten the Hoenn league, and she was years older then most of her opponents. It would have been easy for her."

"Are you getting anywhere with this? Velde fell down the stairs and broke her neck."

Mewtwo stared at Brenda as if she weren't particularly smart. "What happens if someone is pushed on the stairs?"

"They fall… and can break their neck." Brenda shook her head. "I think I'll be talking with the investigating officer."

"That might be a good idea. Now, she would have probably fought these people." Mewtwo tapped a few other squares. Brenda made note of the names. "I've looked over their teams, and they showed the greatest chance of winning."

"Until they went up against Velde, or the charts were changed."

"Right." Mewtwo flipped to the next chart. "This is Michael Adams. His team had the type advantage until the third rank. Medusa would have fought this one, Samuel Tristan, and would have won. His team is unbalanced, psychic types only."

"And Michael trained…" Brenda grabbed at one of the trainer lists and scowled. Who knew there were so many people whose last names started with Z?

"Bug and steel types," Mewtwo said. He smiled at Brenda's surprised glance. "I have a good memory. He would have beaten Samuel. Perhaps not easily, but he still would have won."

"Not for sure, though."

"It's extremely likely."

Brenda nodded. "Okay, but Michael died. Who's next, Heather?"

"Yes, Heather. She trained Dark types." Mewtwo flipped to another chart, and tapped Heather's square. "She was going to fight-"

"Samuel," Brenda said. "He just keeps showing up, doesn't he? Who's he fighting now?"

Mewtwo flipped to the last chart, and pointed at Samuel's square. "His opponent is at a decided disadvantage, with flying and fighting types."

"So if something happens to- Rob Williams…?"

"I doubt anything will. The only people who died, Heather and Michael, were a threat to Samuel. Medusa was a threat to every trainer."

"When the only way to win is to clear the board," Brenda muttered. "I'm going to call Mara. Write this up so we can show the hell beasts something."

"Of course." Mewtwo turned to his computer, his eyes diamond hard. A psychic type trainer- didn't it just figure?

**End Notes**

Ladies, gentlemen, and devoted revieweres, thanks for reading. Tip your author on the way out, thanks.


	5. Psychic

**Tuesday**

Brenda parked the car, and glanced over at Mewtwo. He was looking distracted; well and why not? Psychic trainer, and he was a psychic pokemon. You didn't have to be a telepath to figure out that there would be tension.

"Do you want him to be the killer?" Brenda asked.

Mewtwo looked over. _(And if I do?)_

"Try to stay objective. This could all be a coincidence. Velde was a threat to every trainer, you said so yourself. The other two were killed in vastly different ways. This may just be a few rivalries gotten out of hand and one accident." Brenda folded her arms, and glared at Mewtwo. He had to understand this. "If you're not objective, you're going to have to ride a desk."

_(You would close me from the investigation,)_ Mewtwo said. He couldn't- well, yes, he _could_ believe it. He closed his eyes. _(I will be logical and objective, Detective.)_

"Good. Hate Samuel Tristan all you like, just don't let it cloud your objectivity."

Mewtwo's jaw dropped. He watched the Detective get out of the car, and shook his head. It wasn't nearly that simple, he thought.

He got out of the car, and slammed the door. The Detective turned to look at him, and smiled. It was not a nice smile.

"Let's go find Samuel, hm?"

Mewtwo nodded, and followed behind. He glanced around the nearly empty street. "Where is everyone?" he asked.

"There's probably a tournament on somewhere." The Detective waved one hand, and then folded her arms. "Samuel might be fighting, for all we know."

"We should ask someone, then." Mewtwo began looking for a member of the league staff, and froze. Someone was watching him. He could _feel_ it.

The Detective turned around. "What is it?"

Mewtwo shook his head. "I think I've found Samuel," he said. He nodded towards a person sitting on a nearby bench.

"Psychics," she muttered. "Right then. Let's go talk to him."

Mewtwo nodded, and followed in her wake. His tail was twitching, and his fur bristled along his spine and shoulders. The human might not have been Samuel. All Mewtwo could really tell was that the human was a psychic- and a very strong one. Mewtwo tried to check the human's mental shields, and was blocked.

The Detective stopped just three feet from the human, and folded her arms. "Samuel Tristan?"

The human smiled, and nodded. "That's me."

Mewtwo disliked him even more, if it were possible. A trainer who specialized in psychic pokemon, who was a psychic himself. He sounded conceited.

He was staring at Mewtwo.

Mewtwo's tail twitched, and he took a half step behind the Detective. She didn't appear to notice.

"I want to talk to you, Samuel. Got a minute?"

Samuel inclined his head in a nod. "Of course, miss, but I fear you'll be busy." He gestured to the side. "Someone is looking for you. It feels urgent."

Mewtwo held in a snarl. The Detective did not.

"You have no right to rifle through people's minds!"

"The man is projecting. You'd better go." Samuel folded his arms, and looked back at Mewtwo. "I will always be available later."

The Detective snarled again, and spun on her heel. "Let's go, Smith."

Mewtwo followed, his fur still on end.

He did not like Samuel Tristan. He did not like him at all.

**Tuesday**

Brenda pressed her thumb down on a twitching leg muscle, and scowled. "Bad day for him," she said, and nodded to the corpse.

The coroner looked up, and nodded. "His skull's cracked like an egg," he said.

Brenda eyed the small pool of blood, and didn't comment. She just nodded.

The coroner stood up, and peeled off his gloves. "I'll have more for you after the autopsy, but I'd say that cause of death is blunt force trauma."

"Consistent with falling down the stairs," Brenda said. "Convenient."

Mewtwo glanced at her, his eyebrows raised. Brenda just shook her head, and looked at the stairs. She had to walk up them, her leg was hurting- why didn't she just send Mewtwo? It was his job, after all.

"Smith, check the top of the stairs. Hug the wall."

He looked at the stairs, then back at her. _(Of course, Detective,)_, he said and nodded. Brenda watched as he walked up the stairs. She needed to talk to him about the telepathy.

She did _not_ need her partner dragged off to the tower. Not when she'd just gotten used to another person living with her.

"Nothing, sir," Mewtwo said.

Brenda almost jumped. She'd been lost in thought, never a good place to be. "Crime scene will look over it anyways, though I doubt we'll get anything. Let's go chat with Samuel again." She gestured to the sweepers, and pointed at the stairs. They nodded, and she turned away.

The victim, one Gregory Jackson, had managed to die in a stairwell, on the seventh story landing. How this fit in with the deaths of trainers, Brenda didn't know. It probably didn't, actually. People fell down the stairs all the time. Sometimes, those accidents were fatal. It was a fact of life.

Brenda clutched the railing, and scowled. She'd climbed seven stories worth of stairs, because of _course_ this was one of the oldest league buildings, so of _course_ it didn't have an elevator. And of _course_ they wouldn't put an elevator in; that would ruin the historic value of the building.

Bastards.

"Think you can find Samuel again?" Brenda asked.

"Perhaps. He has a strong psychic signature."

"Which means what, exactly? He gives you a headache?"

Mewtwo shook his head. "Not exactly, Detective."

"Well find him. Quickly, so we can get the hell out of here." Brenda had to pause a minute. The stairs were finished, and her leg muscles were twitching. She pressed her hand against them, and frowned.

"Detective Johnson."

Brenda jumped, and had half pulled her gun before she clued in. "Samuel Tristan. I didn't realize you'd come find us."

The trainer smiled. "I didn't wish to waste your time. I know where we may speak without interruption. Shall we go there?"

Brenda glanced at Mewtwo, and held back a sigh. He was staring at Samuel, with a very unhappy look in his eyes. "Lead on," she said.

Samuel nodded, and held the stairwell door open for Brenda and Mewtwo. "Just down this hallway." He gestured to the left, and started walking.

Brenda glanced at Mewtwo again, and followed. She wanted to have her gun out. Stupid urge, that. Shooting a suspect, well, that was just a bad idea. Shooting her partner because the look in his eyes was starting to freak her out, that was worse.

"May I commend you, detective, on not going insane?"

Brenda's hand came down on the butt of her gun. "What?"

"When your mental shield was shattered." Samuel glanced back over his shoulder, and chuckled. "Perhaps, though, you don't know what I mean by that."

"Not exactly. I am, of course, aware that I give psychics headaches."

"It would be rather complicated to explain why, of course." Samuel shrugged. "As to your mental shield, well, think of it as your fortress. Your mental self is within the walls, and unless a psychic tries, they won't read your mind."

"With you so far," Brenda said. She glanced over at Mewtwo again, and bit her lip. Cop instincts said to duck for cover and start shooting.

"Well, your mental walls, your shield, was shattered. The pieces are very sharp, to psychics. I would have expected you to die, personally."

"And I'm sure you can't explain that, either."

"No, I can. Simply put, detective, you should have gone insane, or comatose." Samuel smiled at her over his shoulder, and stopped walking. "We're here."

Brenda forced herself to let go of her gun, and entered the room. It looked like a company break room, from the beaten furniture to the dusty, fake plant.

"Charming," she said, and leaned against one off-white wall. Mewtwo took up a position on the other side of the room, his arms folded and eyes hard. Brenda couldn't look at him without shivering. It had to be some psychic trick. She wasn't going to be freaked out by his eyes switching between brown and purple. She'd seen it before.

Of course, he'd never looked like he'd commit homicide, just shocked.

"I'm afraid that the league staff doesn't rate much, as far as furniture goes. It's comfortable, at least." Samuel sat down in a chair, and leaned back.

"You are aware that anything said here must be recorded, correct?"

"I am. Protection for both parties, a record of what I've said or not said… Record away."

Brenda looked over at Mewtwo. "Smith, record on."

Mewtwo nodded, and produced the recorder. He set it down on the table, in between Samuel and Brenda.

Samuel turned slightly, to watch Mewtwo. "Smith? What a… common name."

"Not what I want to talk to you about." Brenda pushed away from the wall. "You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to have an attorney present during questioning. If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be appointed for you," Brenda said. "Understand?"

"Perfectly." Samuel smiled again, and laced his fingers together. "Shall we begin?"

"So you're waiving your right to an attorney."

"Yes. I am. I do not feel the need for one."

"Good. Go through your day, starting when you woke up."

Samuel nodded, and closed his eyes. "Let me see. I woke up, and I took care of my morning routine. Shower, toilet, brushing my teeth, I'm sure you get the idea. I then partook in breakfast."

Partook? Who said 'partook', anyways? Brenda frowned, and gestured with one hand. "Skip the flapjacks."

"It was toast, with a very good blueberry jam. After breakfast, I went down to the pokemon center to have my pokemon checked. I would hate for one of them to catch, say, a cold before an important battle."

"A tragedy, I'm sure."

"Indeed. My pokemon were clean, and I then proceeded to watch one of the contests, to study my future opponent. After that, I went down to the market. Have you seen it?"

Brenda nodded.

"Then you know what I'm talking about. Merchants. Such a slovenly lot, wouldn't you agree? The slightest chance of making money and they leap for it like rabid canines. I went and bought medicines, on the off chance that a pokemon might be poisoned or paralyzed.

"After that, I went to one of the food tents for lunch. Do you need that information as well, detective?"

Brenda shook her head. She did not like how Samuel was speaking. It was too rehearsed. That and the lack of any real emotion was ticking her off.

"Very well. After lunch, I returned to my room to get a book. I had no battle scheduled for today, and I wished simply to rewind. I had just finished my book when you first spoke to me."

"I hadn't seen any book."

Samuel shook his head. "Nor would you. I sent it back to my room. Psychic powers, you know."

"Can you account for your whereabouts yesterday, between noon and three p.m., Sunday between ten a.m. and one p.m., and last Wednesday after the opening celebrations?"

"Yesterday, I was scheduled for a battle. It ended sometime around two-thirty, but a few of my… fans-" he smiled, just a little bit, "decided to celebrate with me. I did not return to my room until four."

Brenda decided that the 'fans' were Samuel's family, perhaps a girlfriend. Though the girlfriend would have to like the 'emotionless bastard' type.

Samuel's smile flickered, just the slightest bit. "As for Sunday, I went out. The league has many things, detective, but an actual restaurant isn't one of them. I desired food, not microwaved cardboard. Last Wednesday, I went to bed early. The celebrations held no appeal for me."

Brenda frowned. "You can remember all that off the top of your head?" she asked.

"Side benefits to being a psychic. When you exercise one part of your mind, the rest will either improve as well, or wither away. My memory is nearly photographic."

"I see. Very well. That's all for now." Brenda reached over and switched off the recorder. "I'll find you if I have any other questions."

"Will you permit me to ask a question of you?" Samuel asked.

Brenda nodded. How could there be any harm in that? It was probably just a prelude to the inevitable 'what's this about, anyways' question suspects used.

"How much?"

"What?"

"For your… partner." Samuel gestured at Mewtwo. "How much?"

Brenda frowned. "Excuse me? We don't sell cops."

"He's a pokemon," Samuel corrected. "A psychic type. Quite strong, if I'm any judge, and obviously a very rare species. I am willing to pay a generous amount."

Brenda bruised her fist on Samuel's face.

**End Notes**

Well, after a much too long wait, here is chapter five. Lucky ducks you, chapter six will be here in a week. Leave a review, would you? Thanks.


	6. Pause

**Wednesday**

Three in the morning was a hellish time to call a person, but Brenda was getting nowhere. Mewtwo was asleep in her bed. Rhonwen hadn't wanted to give up her place on the couch, and Brenda wasn't even half as tired as Mewtwo. She was on her seventh mug of coffee. At this point, Brenda needed to talk to someone. She wasn't able to puzzle out her thoughts on her own.

She had to find her cell phone, of course. The kitchen phone had a cord tying it to the wall.

Her cell phone was in the bedroom, on the bedside table. It figured. Brenda held the small device in one hand, and stared at Mewtwo.

In the darkness, lit only by the light leaking around the window blinds, he looked very soft. There were no colors, no purple tail or gray back. Just an amorphous shape resting atop the covers, the very end of his tail hanging over the edge of the bed.

Before she left, Brenda eased his tail up onto the bed. He didn't wake up.

Brenda walked through the house. Rhonwen jumped off the couch to join her.

Rhonwen was a patch of warmth at her side; the night air and front porch were cold. Brenda's rear was already going numb.

Dialing Alison's number was hard, in the dark. The streetlamps helped, of course, but Brenda had the phone tilted so the keypad was in shadow. She didn't even know why. She wanted to talk to Alison, but… it was three in the morning.

Brenda closed her eyes, and pressed send. She listened to the phone ring, half hoping that no one would pick up.

"What?"

"Alison? It's me." Brenda pulled her knees to her chest. "Can I talk to you?"

"Who's dead?"

"I-"

"Oh shit, 'two's dead, isn't he?"

Brenda stared at the phone. "What did you just call him?"

"Hold on just a second, I need a housecoat."

Brenda shook her head. Only Alison could go from dead asleep to awake in six seconds.

"Alright, now what's happened to Mewtwo?"

"Alison, Mewtwo's fine." Brenda bit her lip. "I think."

"You only think? Why don't you know?"

"Because he hasn't said a word for… hours."

"Details. Now."

Brenda sighed. "Well, we were investigating a couple murders, and one of the suspects was a psychic trainer. The trainer wanted to buy Mewtwo, so I punched him."

"You punched a suspect?"

"He pissed me off!"

"Brenda! You could throw your investigation!"

Brenda growled, and pinched the bridge of her nose. "Maybe. It depends on whether the trainer presses charges or not."

Brenda heard something thump on Alison's end of the line. "Brenda, you possibly threw an investigation defending Mewtwo. For anyone, that'd be pretty big."

"I've thrown investigations before!"

"Once. And your partner was shot then."

Brenda didn't answer. It was true.

"Okay, look, is 'two still sleeping on your couch?"

"Right now he's in my bed."

"You're molesting him now?"

"What's wrong with you, Alison! I wouldn't do that!" Brenda punched the concrete porch. She ignored her stinging hand, and continued to half-shout into the phone. "It'd be sick and wrong and- he can't handle looking a prostitute in the eye, I don't think he can handle being groped! He's my partner!"

"You know, I would have thought you'd concentrate on species."

"What? Alison, it's three in the morning."

"_You_ called _me_. Fine. Mewtwo's a pokemon, isn't he?"

"Well, duh."

"You didn't mention species once, in your little protest rant."

"So? I don't see what that has to do with anything, Alison."

Alison sighed. It sounded like a rush of static. "Oh, fine, be dense. A week from now you'll probably figure it out on your own. Anyways, the couch is uncomfortable."

"Yeah, it's my couch, I know that. What does this have to do with anything?"

"Clear out your office, you never use it anyways. Turn it into 'two's bedroom."

"Why do you keep calling him that?"

"Do you even listen to a word I say?"

"Of course I do. If I didn't, you'd just repeat it fifty times." Brenda paused, and closed her eyes. "You've given me a lot to think about, Alison. Thanks."

"Now that I've done that, can I broach a subject that'll probably get you to hang up the phone?"

"Catch your breath, first. I can always hang up, after all."

"I think you should call mom. She's worried about you."

Brenda hung up. She didn't clench her fist, because she wasn't sure if the cell phone would survive.

She did punch the porch again.

The only thing to do was go back inside. Brenda locked the front door behind her, and tossed the phone onto the couch. There was the small matter of cleaning out her home office. Alison had been right. She never used it.

**Wednesday**

_(Detective, what are you doing?)_ Mewtwo didn't know what, exactly, he was seeing. Brenda looked like she wasn't all there. She was covered in dust, still wearing her clothes from yesterday, and one of her hands had bloody knuckles.

"I'm cleaning out my office," she said, as if that explained everything. "I never use it. I'm always at work."

_(You have an office? Where do you keep it?)_

Brenda pointed at a door Mewtwo had always assumed opened onto a linen cupboard. He glanced at her, and shook his head. She looked tired, yes, and dirty, but not as if she would fall over at any moment.

He opened the door to the office, and stared.

It had to have been the master bedroom. It was almost twice the size of Brenda's bedroom, with a window looking out on the backyard instead of the front. There was a desk in the middle of the room, and boxes piled around it. Two table lamps stood on the floor, without shades or bulbs. Dust was _everywhere_.

"It's going to be your bedroom," Brenda said. Mewtwo jumped. He hadn't even sensed her come up behind her.

_(Surely, you would want the bigger room,)_ he stammered. Those folding doors had to be for the closet, but what was that other door for? Another closet?

"What would I need all that room for? You're six-foot-seven. You need a lot more room then I do." She pointed at the second mystery door. "That leads to the master bath. I don't use it either."

_(You have all this room and you never used it?)_ Mewtwo asked, eyes wide. _(What, do you have an upstairs as well? Did you wall off the stairs?)_

"No, but I have a basement. Where else do you think I do laundry?"

Mewtwo just shook his head, unable to comprehend the logic. _Why_ would she shut away so much room? Why would she take the smaller bedroom? _(I don't understand,)_ he finally said.

"That's alright. I only understand sometimes, and no one else ever does. But now you can have the room. Go have breakfast."

Mewtwo stumbled towards the kitchen. For the first time he actually _noticed_ the house. The carpets were a light blue near the walls, darkening to a dingy, almost brown color. Mewtwo started floating. He didn't know what Brenda had tracked in when working, and he didn't want to know.

**You worry,** Rhonwen said.

Mewtwo nearly fell out of the air. _(What are you talking about?)_

The houndoom smiled, and eyed the floor. **It is mostly my fur,** she said. **Mistress does not vacuum.**

Mewtwo narrowed his eyes, and stepped down onto the floor. _(I wasn't worried about that,)_ he said.

**No? Then what were you worried about?** Rhonwen scratched her neck with one hind paw. Mewtwo's eyes followed fine puffs of hair that fell to the ground.

_(It's amazing you have any hair left,)_ Mewtwo said.

Rhonwen didn't even bother to answer. She just glared.

Mewtwo turned away. _(Keep an eye on Brenda. She's acting strangely.)_

**I know,** Rhonwen said.

Mewtwo closed his eyes. There was always the chance that things would make more sense after breakfast.

**End Notes**

Okay, short chapter, I know. I could go on and on about my hecktic life and complain until you guys just want me to shut up, but I won't. Suffice to say that I suddenly have a lot less time then I expected, and can't promise regular updates. I like to be a chapter ahead of what I'm posting, if not two. Expect a chapter before the end of October, at the latest.


	7. Surprise

**Thursday**

Mewtwo slammed the passenger door shut. _(Detective,)_ he said, voice tight. _(Do you mind if I spend time in the woods?)_

"What's wrong, want to commune with nature?" Brenda shut her car door, and scowled when it popped back open. She kicked it. It left a dent, but the door stayed shut. "I don't have a problem with it."

_(I have a headache,)_ he explained. _(All that small print.)_

"When I find whoever wrote out those lab reports, I'll gut them for you," Brenda said. "I could barely read it."

_(That might have more to do with the scientific names for several insects found at the crime scenes.)_

"Oh, shut it. Go play with the wild pokemon, be back by dark." Brenda waved one hand at Mewtwo, and grinned. "And if you're not back by curfew, I'll hunt you down and shoot you."

He narrowed his eyes, and let them glow blue. _(I can shield myself against bullets.)_

"Just thought we should pay homage to how we first met. Me shooting you and all. Get, before you give _me_ a headache."

_(You're in a good mood.)_

"Don't you have a headache?"

Mewtwo disappeared in a rush of blue. Brenda waited, in case he had forgotten something, and relaxed when he didn't show up. She had the house to herself, not counting Rhonwen. It would be nice to spend some time on _her_ computer without some uppity psychic who was good with electronics hovering over her shoulder.

Brenda stopped at the front door. It was open.

Her muscles tightened, and her hand fell to the butt of her gun. There was someone in her house. Rhonwen had probably driven the intruder off, but what if she hadn't? There would be someone going through Brenda's things.

No.

Gun drawn, Brenda entered her house.

"Put that away, Ms. Johnson," the intruder said.

Brenda glanced at Rhonwen. The houndoom was stretched out on the couch, head in the intruder's lap. "Traitor," Brenda muttered.

"That's a bit harsh, Brenda. You know that canines have always liked me. Why should this lovely lady be an exception?"

"Because, mother, that happens to be my canine. Get your hooks out of her." Disgusted, Brenda holstered her gun. What was Sheryl doing here?

Sheryl scratched behind Rhonwen's ears. "When did you end up with such a pretty houndoom? I can't picture you buying one, somehow, and we both know your views on pokeballs."

"Bribe." Brenda sat down across from the couch, and crossed her legs. "The late Rocketto."

The older woman leveled a _look_ at Brenda. Pursed lips, the slightest hint of a glare, and flared nostrils all shouted that Sheryl Lance was not happy. "I had to hear from a friend of mine in the hospital, Bren. They had a cop brought in with second-degree burns, and for an hour they weren't sure if she was going to make it. Just how busy have you been?"

"I have a new partner," Brenda said, refusing to react. Sheryl was upset- well, so was Brenda. She did _not_ like having her home broken into.

"You have-" Sheryl petted the houndoom. That usually helped. "Summary, please, including but not limited to what on earth led you to be tangled in Rocketto and psychic types, your bribe's name, and all the details about the partner."

"That's Rhonwen," Brenda said. "As for what's been happening, it started nearly three months ago." She ran through the summary, starting with the homicides, mentioning that she'd run into Vahan in the lab- but keeping Mewtwo's species a secret.

"The nurses were quite impressed with your partner, you know. I had enough questions answered to know he visited you quite frequently." Sheryl didn't think it prudent to mention she was slightly jealous of the aforementioned partner. It was illogical, of course, but any mother would feel the same way, when their children started to turn to others for support. "Do I get to meet him, sometime?"

"He's staying here, until he gets an apartment," Brenda said. Mewtwo wasn't looking. Why seek out the hassle of rent, anyways? "You're sitting on his bed."

"Will he mind?" Of course, Brenda hadn't answered the question, but Sheryl hadn't heard 'no'.

"I think he'll just be horrified for a few seconds." Brenda studied Sheryl's choice of clothing, the worn jeans and old, stretched sweater. Nothing terrifying, unless you were scared of lint. "He's an orphan, you know how we are. He can't imagine anyone having parents, let alone me."

"The both of you came from somewhere," Sheryl said. "He can take care of himself, I assume, if he's working with you."

"He's a really strong psychic. Strong enough to impress me." Usually, psychics just pissed Brenda off. Mewtwo used to piss her off and impress her. Now he just impressed her.

Sheryl blinked. Now that was unexpected. "And you didn't kill him when he started working with you? You've mellowed, Bren."

"I shot at him," she said, just short of growling. "It's just pointless to waste bullets shooting at him when he's got a fucking shield up before I've even pulled the trigger." Of course, she'd only shot at him the once, but that was beside the point.

Sheryl started laughing. "Bren, you have no idea how much I've missed you. I'll have to break in more often."

"I really wish you wouldn't, I was ready to shoot."

"Well, _I_ wish you'd call sometime. I was ready to shoot you! You've been on a case against Rocketto, you were just about five minutes from losing your leg, you have a new partner, and now you're tracking a serial killer."

"The partner came first, and Rocketto's dead," Brenda pointed out. "As for the serial killer…" Well, why not? "Want to play profiler? I've got a tricky case."

"Unofficially? Please. I'm working the clinical circuit now, pediatric, which means I deal with neurotic parents, perfectly normal children, and the occasional child who can use me."

"Of course."

"Okay then, what am I dealing with?"

"Two things. The first is the suspect. He's telepathic, possibly telekinetic. He spoke of teleporting a book up to his room. About fourteen, very formal except when he slips up. Very detailed, and remembered what he'd had for breakfast the day before."

"Either the near-eidetic memory some psychics develop, or a very good liar," she said. "He sounds like a complicated little brat." Sheryl liked working off the record. It meant she could be honest. "We'll save him for a full write-up. What's your killer like?"

"So far? I'm not entirely sure. The victims have been killed in extremely different ways. The first one, Medea Velde, might not even be a victim. She fell down some stairs and broke her neck.

"I didn't know about Velde at first," Brenda said. "I thought the first victim was Michael Adams. He was stabbed to death. At least seven times. The second was Heather Fiest, strangled with her robe belt. The third victim I investigated wasn't a trainer at all, but one of the staff. Fell down the stairs."

"Fell?"

"Fell. Lab reports came in. Cleaning crew mopped the stairs, forgot to put up a sign. Shit happens."

"Velde and an employee falling down the stairs and dying? Bren, don't tell me you've started to believe in coincidence." She thought for a minute. "Is there a link between trainers? Velde could have been a crime of opportunity. She was there, so was your perp. The perp pushed, down she went. Dead.

"The next time, he was less sensitive to death. Stabbing is a very, very messy death, strangulation takes some time and callousness. He watched that victim die. If the third victim was killed, then I need more data on the perp before I can give you anything very reliable."

"The only connection between the trainers is Samuel. Velde was an extremely talented trainer. It was a given that she'd win, just about. Michael trained... I can't remember. Either way, Samuel trains only psychic types, and so far the only trainers to die had teams that were strong against psychics."

"They would have faced him, and probably won?"

"Yes, unless there was a surprise, like… Well, that didn't happen. It won't."

"No such thing as too crazy. Spill."

Brenda hesitated. This wasn't her secret, she had no right to tell, but- this was her _mother_. A professional shrink who took the secrecy credo to a whole new level. If she couldn't tell Sheryl, then there was obviously something seriously screwed up in her brain.

"I know this psychic pokemon," Brenda admitted. "Mewtwo. Really powerful, on the same level or stronger then Vahan." Which was true enough. Mewtwo couldn't show off as much as Vahan as when he was just being himself. Vahan had to appear completely human, after all. "Outweighs me by ten and a hundred pounds, taller by a foot. Samuel wants him."

"Wild, I take it," Sheryl said. "He sounds like he could take care of himself in normal fights, unless someone hit him with a sleep attack or paralysis. What's the problem?"

"It's, well… Samuel makes me uneasy," Brenda admitted. It was harder then she'd expected; obviously, she'd gotten out of the habit of confiding in Sheryl. "And Mewtwo can't, really. He doesn't know nearly enough about humans, and for some reason he's interested in me." Interested in making sure she didn't strain her leg, go for too long without sleep, or overdose on coffee.

"You are going to start calling me at least one every two weeks, Bren. This is two psychics you talk to and haven't shot yet." Sheryl shook her head. "As for your friend, I'm not sure what to say. Could you ask him to stick close to you, or go way out into tall grass in some dead end? Your jerk trainer probably has enough gym badges to make any pokemon he catches obey him in a fight, if he's in the tournament."

"I've never understood the logistics of badges," Brenda muttered. "As for Mewtwo... it's complicated. He's not the type to hide away, he can only stand humans so much, and something about throwing empty mugs at walls frightens him." Not that she'd done that around him yet, but he'd probably be startled.

Sheryl didn't get it, but she was used to that. "He won't want to hide, understood. He certainly sounds powerful, but I'd still worry. If Samuel is faster than he is, one of his pokemon could get a strike in." She frowned. "Is Samuel rich?"

"I don't know. I'd have to ask Vahan to hack into Samuel's accounts." Brenda tapped one finger against her lip. "You're thinking about the master ball, aren't you? Trainers don't have to be rich to get one."

"Manipulative and sneaky would do it. If Samuel went out looking for your friend, he sounds smart enough to have something that will cause paralysis or sleep."

"He trains only psychics, but I wouldn't put it past him," Brenda said. "Mewtwo is the sort of pokemon Samuel would love getting his hands on." She bared her teeth. "I don't plan on letting him."

"I'll do a little research," Sheryl said. "I've been writing a few papers lately. If I drop a few journal names and mention some long words, I can find some squint at the company who can let me know about master balls."

"Please do. I'd rather not find my friend missing." If something happened... Brenda realized that it hadn't been painful to call Mewtwo a friend. How about that? "Mewtwo's pretty special."

That was very interesting, which meant Brenda wouldn't say a thing. "If he wouldn't mind putting up with humans for a little, Leon and I can have him over for dinner sometime. He and Leon can grumble about trainers, Leon will throw a few pointers in for free," Sheryl said.

Brenda had to think over her response. Most of what she had to say involved swearing only. "That would be... interesting," she finally said. "Vahan and Mewtwo can't be in the same city block at the same time, though. Friction." And an impossibility.

"I don't live on the same block as you do. Vahan could stay here, Mewtwo could visit us," Sheryl said. A very interesting and highly improbable thought had just come to mind. Brenda was involved, which meant it was probably right.

"Sheryl, you live three cities away." Brenda smiled, and leaned back. "I think that could work."

"Unless Vahan and Mewtwo can't be in two places at the same time." Two powerful psychics. Two powerful psychics that Brenda cared about. Two powerful psychics Brenda cared about who couldn't be on the same block at the same time? Something was interesting.

"I don't know what you're talking about." Brenda used her best monotone, the one reserved for telemarketers and Requisitions.

"Bren, you owe me. Two months of nothing and suddenly you're close to two guys? Two _psychics, _no less, and you could have died. The doctors were convinced that your leg was coming off, you confronted Team Rocket's leader, and you're chasing a serial killer, and you didn't think of calling? Ali thought you were avoiding me."

"I left messages," Brenda said. "I've just been really busy." Okay, guilt trip- take one. Sheryl was good at those sorts of things.

"You've left messages at four in the morning, or while I'm at work, or when you know Leon and I would be out at dinner without cell phones. You leave four-second messages that don't answer anything."

"At least you know I'm alive," Brenda muttered. She reminded herself of the three month long grounding she'd been forced into, when Sheryl and Leon had found out about her driving without a license. At least she hadn't been caught by the cops.

"At least I- you almost died, and I didn't know. You didn't call me back when you were still in the hospital and quite lucid enough to fight with doctors and change prescriptions."

"Sheryl, I was directing I don't know how many ops from my sick bed!" How that had happened, Brenda didn't know. She was sure she didn't want to find out. "Team Rocket had to be taken down."

"Bren, I'd take five minutes. I'm talking to you because I picked the lock on your front door."

Brenda got up off her chair, and started pacing. She hadn't asked for this, had she? She was a cop, a damn good one, and she didn't need distractions.

On second thought, yes she did. It was all part of being a good cop. "Why am I such a bitch, Sheryl?"

"You're not a bitch, Bren, you just didn't inherit the multi-tasking gene."

"What?"

"You work on cases, and it's like nothing else exists. You don't remember to call people." She pointed at the wall. "That's why I taped the sign by the phone. 'Call Sheryl.' If you don't, I'll just have to break and enter." She didn't mind.

"You-" She hadn't even noticed. "Sheryl, would you please stop with the interior decorating? My tastes are different then yours." She probably wouldn't have a bed, if not for Sheryl.

"It's Sharpie, a piece of tape, and paper."

"It's on my wall."

"Yes, next to your phone."

"I-" Brenda was interrupted by the front door opening. She had her gun out and pointed at Mewtwo before he'd even stepped in. "Oh. Vahan. Mom, this is Vahan Smith, my partner."

Mewtwo blinked, and his illusion stuttered. Annoying, really- wait, what? "You have a mother?"

"She almost shot me, too," Sheryl said cheerfully. "Bren, hon, didn't I tell you violence isn't the answer?" She looked over Mr. Vahan Smith quickly. She couldn't help being interesting in her daughter's partner. "Pity Leon got to you about guns as tools."

"Violence is always the answer," Brenda responded. She sat back down in her chair. "Vahan, this is Sheryl Lance, Alison's mother."

"Y-yes, nice to meet you, Mrs. Lance." Brenda had a mother? Strange, Sheryl Lance looked nothing like either of her daughters.

"Alison's my daughter by biology, Bren because she was a wonderfully complex child," Sheryl said. "If you call me that, I'm calling you Officer Smith," she warned.

"Wonderfully complex child is shrink speak for 'unholy monster who bites the hand that feeds her'," Brenda said. Mewtwo was looking a little stunned. "Yes, Vahan, I came from a womb. Sit down, would you? I know I have three chairs somewhere."

"In the kitchen, they're actually stools, and I'll get one."

"I won't say that," Sheryl protested. "You and Leon might have bumped heads from the beginning, but I know you and Ali were thick as thieves and twice as much work."

Mewtwo sat down on the stool, and lifted his eyebrows. "Why would the Detective butt heads with a fellow gun enthusiast?"

"Cop," Brenda corrected. "And because he has a dick, of course."

Sheryl rolled her eyes. "Because he was a cop, and she hated them when she was seven. She hated cops, social workers, lawyers, psychics, and psychiatrists. The fact that Leon is male didn't help him one bit."

"I had issues," Brenda said. "Now shut up and stay out of it." She glanced at Sheryl. "I talk to him like this all the time, mom, don't psychoanalyze me."

"Me? Psychoanalyze?" She grinned. "Why am I not surprised, that you usually are so blunt?"

"I've only gotten worse with age. And a bum leg." She rolled up her pants leg an inch, enough for Sheryl to see some of the burns. "Apparently pain makes me cranky."

"Especially if you just flush all your perfectly safe pain medication down the toilet, if it makes it out of the bottle." Sheryl was very familiar with that. "How long have you been working with Bren, Mewtwo?"

"Nearly three months," he said. "She tried to shoot me when we first met."

Brenda slapped her hand against her forehead.

Sheryl grinned. "Sorry, Bren, it fit way too well."

"Idiot," she muttered. "You just had to let her know." She replayed the last minute at full mental volume, making Mewtwo wince.

"Sorry."

"Oh, don't be," Sheryl said. "Bren is the one who put the idea in my head. Not one, but two powerful psychics at about the same level?" She didn't mention that Bren had fussed about Mewtwo. That wouldn't go over well.

Mewtwo glanced at Brenda. _(Just what did you say?)_ he asked. If it hadn't been rude, he might have looked through Sheryl's mind.

"None of your business," Brenda snarled.

"Bren, be nice," Sheryl said, distracted. "She was telling me about the nasty trainer. I'm sure that you both have considered the possibility of highly unethical behavior."

_(Like what?)_ Mewtwo asked. _(There is no situation I cannot get out of simply by teleporting, and no pokeball designed to hold me.)_

"Oh boy..." Brenda shook her head. "I'm sorry, mom. I don't know where I went wrong."

"I don't suppose you follow the news from Silph Company," Sheryl said. "I do. Several of their research studies are very important to what I do. They test medicines, run quality controls--and they dabble in technology."

Mewtwo let his illusion fall. It was obviously unimportant, and if Sheryl was going to react to two necks, she'd just have to get over it. _(What sort of technology?)_

"Master ball. Theoretically, it works first time, every time, and catches any pokemon. At all. Quite expensive, still in development stages, but a manipulative bastard could get his hands on a prototype."

_(A manipulative bastard like Samuel Tristan.)_ A glance at Brenda confirmed the suspicion. _(Why didn't you tell me, Detective? Or were you hoping to get your hands on one of your own?)_

"She doesn't follow research, and does not have access to just what these prototypes can do," Sheryl said. "As far as she knew, they were a slight improvement on an ultra ball."

Brenda nodded. "Hell, an ultra ball could get you," she said. "Not that I'd let anyone- never mind. It won't happen. Mom, you want something to drink? I've got coffee, and... coffee." She needed to remember to pick up some hot chocolate, sometime this century.

"I'll take coffee," Sheryl said. "Real sugar would be lovely. We only have fake in the house, since Leon's doctor found diabetes. Nothing drastic, just garden-variety type two."

Mewtwo blinked, and turned to watch Brenda head to the kitchen. _(Just what was she telling you about me?)_ he asked. _(Never mind, did you know she punched a suspect?)_ It still made his chest warm.

(Is this a private conversation?) she asked. (She'll be at least a minute. The poor abandoned sugar dish is probably still languishing over the sink.)

He nodded, his eyes very wide. She knew how to project her thoughts without screaming? _(You've had experiences with psychics before, Sheryl?)_

(Pretty extensive experience, yes. I've worked with trainers, and have even worked with a few of the bad eggs you see at tournaments. I know enough about pokemon to worry that Samuel could get his hands on something fast with a paralyzing attack.)

_(He wouldn't even need a pokemon,)_ Mewtwo said, thinking it out. _(A dart gun and a nasty drug, perhaps. I'm as vulnerable to that as anyone, so long as I'm distracted.)_

(Correct. I will be looking into Silph, but I might be too late if someone has already stolen a master ball. They expect to lose prototypes to the black market. It increases the prestige of their product.)

_(Wonderful.)_ Disgusting. _(I don't suppose the Detective will-)_ come back without warning, a very full mug of coffee in one hand.

"Here, mom."

"Thank you," Sheryl said, taking the coffee. (I do hope we can finish that thought, some time. Two clever people should be able to come up with an excuse.) She finished her first long sip. "Now, about this case. Do you believe that Samuel could be the killer?"

"Easily," Brenda growled. "Means, motive, and opportunity."

_(All that and he's a- to use your terminology, Detective- jackass.)_

"Stabbing sounds too messy for him," Sheryl said critically. "That's very violent, very unrestrained. At least seven wounds... He does sound more along the lines of someone who would strangle. The problem is that your killer isn't stable enough to have a set personality."

"What do you mean by that?" Brenda asked, falling into the routine easily. A look at Mewtwo advised him to keep quiet and pay attention.

"The first killing- I would call that a killing. Prominent trainer, tournament, in good shape. Tripping is possible, but when there's already a serial killer..." She frowned. "I've been out of the field for years, since I started in pediatric psychotherapy, but I think you're dealing with an opportunist. Strong enough to strangle someone and keep them from escaping, but he's not a serial killer in the classic definition.

"The only link between victims is a connection to Samuel. Your killer hasn't picked a specific reason, or method. He- or she, but I'll choose a gender- uses what he has at the time, when he has the chance. I would recommend a guard on every trainer in the tournament, strict curfews, and constant surveillance at night. Anyone wandering those floors after curfew can spend a night in the lobby."

"I can see everyone screaming in rage. Trainers are used to being in charge of everything, including the lives of very powerful creatures." Brenda scowled. "Besides that, not enough guards."

"You'll have fun with that, Bren," she said. "The trainers can be told that if they want to be treated as adults, they will act like them. For guards... ask trainers to keep their entourage close, or at least keep a pokemon out for company. The killer is probably an opportunist."

"Gotta love those," Brenda muttered. "So your opinion is 'not Samuel'."

"Yes. Samuel, however, falls under the category of pisses-off-a-cop. Don't even try to play innocent, I'm married to one of you. You can find some reason to put him in jail, or at least get him a night in a holding cell without anyone to fight his battles for him." She didn't feel any guilt at the suggestion. Cops needed a little stress relief, too.

Brenda smirked. "I can usually get people to throw a punch."

"Everyone has their talents," Sheryl agreed, shaking her head. (Vahan, how many people know she punched a suspect? If someone I don't like knows, then I can shift the blame.) "You throw punches, Alison blinds people."

Mewtwo frowned. _(Everyone here, and Alison. Include Samuel and that's it.)_

"You're comparing me to Alison now? I'm hurt."

"You were the one behind the entire pink laundry incident," Sheryl warned. "I still think that sent Ali thinking about fashion, after she turned her clothing pretty colors with all the dye."

Mewtwo's head whipped around. _(What?)_

Brenda scowled. "I was trying to be helpful. My first time doing laundry and I get pink shirts."

"You were not," Sheryl said. "Ali was happily using her dye for some new method or other, and you're the one who put red dye in with the white clothing."

Brenda glared, refusing to talk. The truth was, she'd wanted to join Alison with whatever it was, and was then forced to be a model. Not fun.

Mewtwo's lips twitched. _(Amusing,)_ he said. _(Detective, why won't you wear pink?)_ He then had to duck. Brenda had thrown her wallet.

"You and Ali are more alike than you think, even if you do have more conservative tastes." Sheryl liked Crack, but she did wish Ali would cover up a little more. Brenda was much more careful about clothing, and about which guys she associated with.

Brenda rolled her eyes. "So you're insulting me now? I'm nothing like Alison. Do you see me running my own fashion consultation business?"

Mewtwo choked. Alison ran a fashion consulting business? He never would have guessed.

"I'm not insulting you, Bren. Both of you are stubborn, both of you enjoy scandalizing people, both of you like to give the jerks of the world what they deserve."

"You know, that's just described almost every cop I know. Including him." She jerked her head towards Mewtwo. "Though he's less on the scandalizing side and more on the stubborn."

_(Should I be complimented?)_

"I don't know," Sheryl said. "Knowing you, Bren, anyone lasting a week as your partner would be a bit of a scandal."

"They're taking bets. Apparently, everyone's lost." She noticed Mewtwo staring. "What?"

"Bren has a bit of a reputation. The few times the station tried to stick her with a partner..." Sheryl smiled fondly at the memories. "Remember the idiot with the bad hair? I kind of liked him."

"He fainted, not even in the corner where he'd be out of the way. And he ruined a crime scene."

"Yes, but he was such a sweet man when he came to me for therapy. He left when he heard that I'm related to you, though."

"I threatened to make him eat his own liver," Brenda said. "That's not traumatic."

"Bren, hon, it kind of is. That would be deadly, by the time you got in there to take out the liver. Not to mention unsanitary."

"Screw that, he didn't know the first thing about body parts. He thought the pancreas was part of the spinal cord." Brenda was disgusted. She might not know where the pancreas was, but she knew where it wasn't.

_(So you dislike anyone who's worse at science, math, and biology then you are, Detective? It makes a certain amount of sense.)_ Mewtwo smiled, innocently enough, when Brenda glared at him.

Sheryl shook her head. (You are brave, or clueless in the ways of the world. I know two other people who could have said that and lived, and both of us are female.)

Mewtwo choked again, and edged away from Brenda.

"What did you say? Mom, what did you tell him? I will shoot, you know, this is my house and if I want to shoot something I can and I will."

"Hush, you wouldn't shoot me now. I just was very surprised that he can get away with saying something like that, but I suppose he's more useful with his skin on." Sheryl smiled, and was sure that any psychic could figure out she was teasing.

Brenda scowled, and put her gun away. "Maybe," she grumbled. "He understands how to use technology, anyways." And a million other things. Brenda wasn't getting rid of him any time soon.

"Really?" she asked. "No, don't tell me. I might have to abuse his knowledge."

"Fine." Brenda smiled, and decided to be nice and explain for the poor, confused psychic. "Sheryl's where I got my wonderful talent with electronics."

**End Notes**

Yes, this is horrendously late. Too bad for you- writer's block and a near obsession with finishing an original story of mine- no, it's not done yet- plus teachers at school who don't feel fanfiction should come before homework, and my job deciding to give me a few extra hours I didn't really want, plus driver's school…

Okay, enough excuses. Busy life, fanfiction comes last. Never the less, I don't see very many chapters left, and eight is going to come really, really soon. Leave a review, even if it's just to flay me for being so late.


	8. Cresendo

**Friday**

"-anyone found not complying with these security considerations shall be arrested, whether you have a tournament scheduled or not. These security considerations are for your safety and apply to all trainers." Captain Dallas cleared his throat, and adjusted his tie. He was at the front of the pokemon center, near the nurse's desk, being watched by the majority of the trainers. The other police officers were at the back of the room.

Brenda smirked, and looked over at Mewtwo. "What do you say, five bucks that they mob Dallas for this?"

_(No bet,)_ he whispered. _(They look like they'll kill him.)_

"Children," she said, and waved one hand. "No self control."

Mewtwo bit his lip to keep from laughing. _(I should go.)_

"Why rush?" Brenda winced a little when one trainer rushed up to Dallas and slapped him. The poor trainer had probably broken his hand on Dallas's rock of a skull. "The party's just getting started."

_(Because Samuel is coming this way.)_ Mewtwo took a step backwards, and nodded in Samuel's direction. _(I shall meet you at the car, Detective.)_

"Sure," Brenda murmured, and mentally cracked her knuckles. She could handle one fourteen year old brat, easily.

"Detective Johnson," Samuel said, and then stopped. His lips thinned down to one white line, and his eyes flashed white. Brenda lifted one eyebrow. So he had a few flashy tricks, did he?

Brenda studied her nails. She was used to Mewtwo, who was scary even when he didn't start glowing. Samuel was nothing. "As far as I know, that is my name, no need to remind me."

"I know you are behind these new rules."

"Rules?" She looked up, and attempted to look innocent. It didn't work. "Did you not hear the Captain? They're security considerations."

"I know exactly what they are, no matter what you call them!" Samuel snapped. Brenda just snorted, and looked him in his glowing eyes.

"Well, since you know what they are, surely you know the consequences for breaking them. They won't be waived because you're a telepath, you know." Ever so slightly, Brenda layered her mind in anger. If it worked on Mewtwo, it would work on Samuel.

It did. The boy flinched back, actually going so far as to back away a few steps.

"I shall file a complaint," Samuel said, his breathing harder then it should have been. "This is harassment."

"Oh, yes, I have a vendetta against any and all trainers." Brenda shook her head. "Shoo. Don't you have a sandbox to play in or something?"

She watched as his face turned red and a nearby potted plant rattled in its stand. All it would take, she figured, was one more push, and then he could be booked for assault.

"Grow up," she said, and turned her back. Sadly, the potted plant didn't make contact with her back. It would have been so much simpler if he'd just gone for the assault, but- she shrugged. If he tried to mess with her mind, he'd find out just how painful her mental defenses were. If he went the physical route, she'd fought dragons with a sword. He was a skinny fourteen year old who looked like he didn't know how to throw a punch.

Mewtwo was waiting at the car. Brenda raised one eyebrow; the car's bumper was resting at Mewtwo's feet, instead of where it was supposed to be, which was on the front of the car. "What happened?" she asked.

"I brushed it," Mewtwo said, his eyes purple through his illusion. "That's it."

"Detectives get shit cars," she said. "Stick it in the back seat and we'll go."

His lips twitched up in a smirk. "Are you going to threaten Maintenance again?"

"Of course. Those jackasses couldn't find their own asses if they tried, but they should be able to weld a bumper back on."

Mewtwo made a noncommittal noise, and picked up the bumper. There were dents where Brenda had kicked it, and a large patch of rust. It looked like it couldn't be reattached at all. "They could just give you a new one."

"What, a new bumper?" Brenda got into the driver's seat. "Maybe, but that one has my license plate."

"I'm sure they can move your license plate, but no, I was talking about a new car."

"The only way for me to get a new car is for this one to blow up," Brenda said. "Hurry up and get in."

Mewtwo shrugged and teleported the bumper onto the backseat, and got in. _(Back to the station?)_

"Noses to the grindstone and all that, and I want to take another look at people who stand to gain from the deaths."

**Friday**

**Psychic, wake up.**

The void was barking at him. Mewtwo cracked open one eye and nearly groaned. _(What is it?)_

Rhonwen glared at him, her eyes glowing in the darkness. **Get the mistress. There is an intruder.**

He sat up, and looked around. _(Inside the house?)_

**Not yet. But… soon. Wake her up.** Rhonwen looked back at the front door, the tip of her tail twitching. Mewtwo stared at her for a moment, and then shook his head. Brenda could deal with the dark type. He wasn't, after all, supposed to be at her place.

_(Detective?)_ Brenda's mental defenses were partly lowered. He imagined she was having a good dream. _(Detective, wake up.)_

'_Guh?'_

He winced at the volume of her mental voice, but did his best to ignore the ensuing headache. _(Detective, Rhonwen says there's an intruder.)_

He felt her wake up. _'What? Where? Now? Hold on one moment!'_

He could hear footsteps just at the front door. _(I would happily wait, Detective, but I don't think our intruder will.)_ He stared at the door knob, and was able to see the faint, pale blue glow of telekinesis. _(Psychic intruder, Rhonwen's waiting to pounce. Don't bother hurrying.)_

Her amusement was the booming of oversized church bells. If he hadn't been sitting on the couch, he might have been driven to his knees.

Someone, he thought, had to teach the Detective how to lower her mental voice. But not him.

The front door opened, the intruder stepped in, and Rhonwen pounced.

Mewtwo looked back at Brenda's bedroom when the door opened. She'd taken the time to get dressed and brush her hair, and she walked- sauntered, really- over to where the houndoom had pinned the human.

"You do realize breaking and entering is a crime, right?" She flipped the hall light on, and blinked down at Samuel Tristan. "And you broke a security consideration- several, I imagine."

"You dare-!" Samuel hissed, before Rhonwen snarled. He fell silent and turned a pasty gray.

Brenda decided gray was really more Mewtwo's color. Well, that and purple. "What, I dare to try and keep you and your ilk alive? You're right, how dare I assume to do my job. Look, brat, you're under arrest. Breaking and entering and risking your own damn life by wandering around alone when you should be holed up in your hotel room. You have the right to remain silent, anything you say can and will be used against you, you have the right to an attorney and if you can't afford one- which I doubt, since you're what, twelve?" Brenda raised her eyebrows.

"Fourteen!" Samuel spat.

"Fine, thirteen. If you can't afford an attorney, one will be provided for you. Got that?"

"I understand." Samuel looked down at the houndoom perched on his chest, and gulped. "Get this beast away from me!"

"Not just yet." Brenda turned and walked back into the house, shutting the front door behind her. "Mewtwo?"

_(Detective, that was amusing.)_

"Glad you think so. I'm going to call Sheryl over." Brenda moved over to the phone, and decided she really was grateful Sheryl had left her phone number taped on the wall. Her memory for numbers was faulty. "I don't want you near Samuel, and leaving you and Rhonwen alone together for more then an hour is probably asking for trouble."

Mewtwo snorted. _(The houndoom and I have a truce,)_ he said. _(There is no need to call in your mother.)_

Brenda slanted a look in Mewtwo's direction. "So you'd have no problem feeding Rhonwen? It's raw meat, you know."

_(I'm pretty sure that's unhealthy.)_

"That'd be a no?"

He sighed. _(I think I'd like to catch up on my sleep.)_

"What, haven't you been sleeping?" Brenda dialed the phone number, and listened to the ringing. "Care to share?"

_(No.)_

Brenda smirked to herself. That was why she was calling in the shrink, after all. "Right- Hi, mom!"

"_Do you have any idea what time it is?"_

Brenda sighed, and looked up at the ceiling. "Way too fucking early? You can come over and use my bed, I just need someone to baby-sit Rhonwen. Vahan doesn't want to touch raw meat."

"_Now?"_

"I have to take someone into the station for breaking and entering."

Sheryl laughed, and Brenda grinned. _"Fine, just let me call a cab. I'm not driving at- oh my- three-forty in the morning."_

"Only cops and cab drivers are that insane," Brenda said. "Thanks." There was no way to ask Sheryl to talk to Mewtwo, not with him in the same room. "I'll talk to you later- afternoon, probably. Paper work."

"_I'll see you then."_ Sheryl hung up and after a moment, Brenda did the same.

"I think I'll wait for Sheryl to show up," she said. "Then I'll take the brat in to the station. Take a nap, Mewtwo."

Mewtwo stretched out on the couch, and closed his eyes. After a minute, he felt Brenda move closer, just before she pulled the blanket from the back of the couch and draped it over him.

**Friday**

Mewtwo clenched his eyes and wrinkled his nose at the scent of coffee. There was someone- female, stubborn, slightly irritated- in the kitchen. When had Brenda fixed her mental shield? But no, that couldn't be Brenda...

He opened his eyes. If it wasn't Brenda in the kitchen, then who was it? He sat up, and stared at the blanket that had just fallen off him to the floor. Then he looked over and blinked. _(Mrs. Lance?)_

"Good morning," Sheryl said. "Good afternoon, more accurately. Brenda's at the station taking care of a few things. I came over to make sure Rhonwen is properly spoiled."

He blinked several times. _(Why does the hell-hound need to be spoilt?)_ he asked. _(Or was this just Brenda's attempt at being sneaky and trying to get someone else to make dinner for once?)_

"Samuel tried to break in last night. Rhonwen put a stop to that very quickly."

_(I remember that.)_ It just had the same vague, unreal feeling of a dream. _(She left me behind?)_ Should he feel hurt, at that?

"She asked me to come over in case Rhonwen caught any more burglars," Sheryl said. "You were sleeping like the dead when I got here, and she said you've been behind on rest."

How could Brenda have figured that one out? He was covered in fur, and besides that, his illusion always appeared well rested and neat. _(The dead don't breathe,)_ he said, and stood up. He was hungry, and there was probably still an apple or two in the fridge.

"The dead probably would get up with all the fuss around here," Sheryl said. "You just about slept through Samuel screeching about police brutality, and you did sleep through the argument he and Brenda had."

He had? He was sorry to have missed it. Mewtwo pulled out an apple from the fridge, and ate half of it in two bites. _(What, did she hit him?)_

"I didn't get here until Samuel was already in the back of a cruiser. I don't think she hit him, but I think that she was very tired." Sheryl smiled. "She was helping him up when she accidentally dropped him onto her thorn bush." Brenda's small attempt at landscaping hadn't yielded flowers, but the thorns were impressive. "Pity, isn't it?"

_(About the thorn bush? Not really.)_ He frowned, and looked over at Sheryl. _(That bush was supposed to have flowers, right?)_

"It's a rosebush. Leon and I bought it when she moved in, and the flowers never came back after the first year."

_(She must have tried feeding it coffee. That's what she's doing to her plant at the station.)_ He shrugged, and finished the apple. _(What are you doing?)_

"With all this?" She pushed a stack of papers into a neater pile. "I'm writing a paper, which hopefully can be published in the Kanto Psychiatric Review. I have a very unpopular viewpoint, which means that I have a good chance. In layman's terms, it's an explanation of why children should have nothing to do with tournaments. The statistics alone make the point."

_(Ten year olds shouldn't be wandering the wilderness,)_ he said. _(They're very disruptive.)_

"They're very disruptive, entirely too immature, and the real toll comes when they burn out at sixteen, seventeen. It's ridiculous how many of them develop psychiatric conditions, and how many have personality disorders."

Mewtwo blinked, and got a second apple. He didn't really care about former trainers with psychiatric conditions or personality disorders. _(They usually abandon their pokemon,)_ he pointed out. _(Whoever thinks a pokemon raised by humans can survive on its own in the wild is insane.)_

"There's a very small rehabilitation movement gaining some momentum," she said. "The tournaments won't stop for years yet. It's seen as a rite of passage, now. A horribly expensive rite of passage, where a few trainers end up coming out ahead. Most of that money goes straight to the people who set up tournaments."

_(Can we change the subject?)_ he asked. _(The Detective would tell you that I dislike anything involving trainers. If she added swearing, she'd be right.)_

"She also says that you haven't been sleeping a lot, and that she thinks someone at the station has been saying stupid things," Sheryl said. "With more swearing, of course."

_(She would say that,)_ he muttered, and tossed both apple cores into the garbage. _(No one's said anything stupid.)_ Just asked how his trainer was, and whether she was going to kill anyone.

"Just how many no ones work in that station? With cops, you'll get a lot of extremes. You'll have the damn good, and the damn annoying."

_(They say the same thing to the other officers partnered with superiors,)_ he said. _(It really is nothing. Just annoying.)_

"If it's annoying, it's not nothing," she countered. "I'm married to a cop. I've heard a few of the classics from him."

_(They call the Detective my trainer, that's all.)_ He shrugged, and scowled. _(If I didn't know they didn't know I'm a pokemon, I might feel mildly disturbed. As it is, I know they're oblivious, so it's only annoying.)_

"There are ways to get idiots to shut up. Your best option is to put the fear of Brenda in them. In houses like yours, teasing is actually a sign they've accepted you," Sheryl said. "Odd, but so are cops. For a quip like that, dare anyone saying it to think of Brenda as a ten-year-old. I guarantee they won't be able to handle it." She smiled fondly at the memories. "Ali, Leon and I could, but we're special cases."

_(You knew her at that age.)_ Curiosity killed the cat, he was a cat- and he was good at avoiding Brenda's anger. _(What was she like, anyways? I can't see her as a trainer.)_

"She was pretty much the same, just smaller. She never had patience for anyone who took the ego-trip, left bruises on anyone foolish enough to tease Ali. She looks out for everyone she cares about, which is why I know she hasn't heard the teasing. She has ways of stopping that."

He snorted. He imagined she did. _(Did she always want to be a cop, or did she decide that after some momentous event of her life being saved by a police officer?)_

"Leon talked her into it as a safe career," Sheryl said. "She wanted to be a racecar driver. That was right after she taught herself how to drive."

_(How many people died, and how long did she spend in jail?)_

"No time in jail only because they don't know who did it. The only near fatality was Leon, who almost had a heart attack when he saw what happened to the car."

One eye ridge winged up, and Mewtwo filed that comment away for later. It was probably the sort of thing Brenda would be proud to speak of. _(I take it she was a hellion then?)_

"I doubt she'll stop," Sheryl said. "She'll raise your blood pressure, but there's nothing wrong with that. It just takes a special constitution to live with her, even when she likes you."

_(I've noticed.)_ He frowned, and stared at a ruined cook book, flipping what remained of the pages with his mind. _(How many partners has the Detective had?)_

"Besides you? One, and he was her partner during training."

_(Her trainer?)_ It sounded wrong, when it was Brenda. _(So why am I so special? Just because I understand science and math and can work a computer without it exploding?)_

"You've been her partner for two months. You can keep up with her, she can trust you to do your part. Not many people understand that she isn't all anger." Just mostly anger, some days.

He frowned. _(Somehow, Sheryl, I doubt that.)_

"Which part?" she asked, eyes narrowed. It had been an odd question, but that response...

_(You cannot feel her mental shield.)_ He paused, and fairness forced him to admit, _(of course, I agree with the only other psychic to mention it- she should be dead because of it. Still. She orders me around, she ignores me or snaps when I ask reasonable questions, and she treats me like an idiot.)_

"If you want a partner with social niceties, Brenda isn't your best choice," Sheryl said. "She treats everyone that way, and she makes changes when she thinks no one's paying attention. I don't think she could have found the produce section of the market without neon lights, a year ago."

He had to blink at that. _(She's the one who tried to nag me about a balanced diet.)_ Just because he was a cat, just because cats were normally predators, didn't mean he was going to eat meat. The fruits and vegetables had started showing up that week. _(Well, maybe she'll change.)_

"She has changed. That doesn't mean she'll stop swearing, cut out caffeine, and donate money to charities for lawyers."

_(I wouldn't expect her to.)_ The thought was terrifying. _(I just wish she treated me better then the damn hell-hound!)_

Sheryl deliberately set down her papers, turned, and stood up. "Is that the problem? You're jealous of Rhonwen." She could listen sympathetically, but that would take too long. The best way to deal with self-pity was to get rid of it for a long time.

_(I'm not jealous of Rhonwen.)_ He looked around; just to make sure the dark type_ void_ wasn't anywhere he could see. _(I just...)_ He shook his head. He had no clue. _(Forget I said anything.)_

"Not likely. You just..." she prompted.

He didn't think she'd react well to glowing blue eyes. _(Drop it.)_

"No."

_(At least you didn't go for a gun,)_ he said. _(I suppose- I'm a pokemon! What am I doing pretending to be a human? I get a _paycheck_, of all things!)_

"And you don't earn it why, exactly? You do just as much work as anyone in that station."

_(It's not that... It's the principle of the thing. I'm working with humans, pretending to be a human, all to solve the murders of humans...)_

"You haven't been getting enough sleep because you're fussing about that?" she asked. Rule one of dealing with anyone in the midst of self-pity. Don't let the other person have all the hyperbole. "From what I've heard, you're very good at it. Is there a different career you'd like to go into?"

That... wasn't expected. What he'd expected, Mewtwo didn't know, but that wasn't it. _(I don't want _any_ career. I want to go back...)_ He waved one paw in the direction of the mountains, even though they couldn't be seen from Brenda's kitchen.

"Would you be lonely?"

He blinked, and looked down at the floor in thought. _(I'm used to it,)_ he said.

"Not anymore. I know that Brenda would miss you, and the rest of the police station would have to. Even if they don't know you, they know she's calmed down since she's met you. Calmed down only a little, but it's enough to be noticed."

He snorted.

That was it. "If you're going to behave like a ten-year-old, I'll leave. You're awake, any second tries at breaking in will wait until tomorrow."

_(W-what? I am not acting like a ten-year-old!)_

"You're being unreasonable. You have no idea what you want, but aren't happy with what you have."

_(Sorry to upset you,)_ he growled. _(It's just very hard to be happy with something that makes me feel as if I'm choking. They're trainers!)_

"They?"

_(Them! Do you have any idea how nasty their minds are? It's like swimming with grimer. Worse. I thought gyrados were bad, but at least a pokemon's not going to hurt another creature just to see it bleed!)_

"Not all trainers are like that. Tournaments, though, you usually get the reckless ones." Her lips narrowed, then she shook her head. "This case can't be the most comfortable place for you."

_(I hate them,)_ he hissed. _(The Detective is the one who wants to find the murderer. I don't care.)_

"You don't care if children die? Trainers might not act like it, but they're children."

_(They're trainers first.)_ He was breathing much too fast for this conversation. _(You've never been hunted, Mrs. Lance. If you had been, you would know that it doesn't matter that a trainer is only ten, or eleven.)_

"No, I haven't," she said. "I just try to clean up when it's over, or stop parents before they let it happen. I do know that Brenda would be completely on your side. She doesn't like trainers, but murderers are very different."

Mewtwo looked away. He knew that. _(They were in a Tim Hortons. I was listening. They were talking about their battles.)_ About the broken bones, the burns, the frostbite- none of it theirs. And the other trainers were congratulating them, as if it had been the humans who'd struggled. _(It just makes me sick.)_

"I don't like it, at all. Is that really the problem? If you'd rather not be around trainers, Brenda could make those field visits on her own. A shield could keep their thoughts away from you, perhaps."

_(I have a shield, it's just... there are a great many of them. Besides, I'm her... aide. Partner.)_ He liked partner better. _(I have to go.)_

"You're not her aide," she said. "Aides are those scared interns at the police station who think you can breathe fire. You're her partner."

He smiled, a little. _(It's just the case,)_ he said. _(I'll feel better when the league is over with for the year.)_

"So will everyone except the hotel industry," she said. "You do know that she won't say partner without meaning it?"

_(I imagine so.)_

"You don't know?"

_(I know. Just... I don't remember her calling me her partner.)_

Sheryl smiled. "That's my girl. Everyone else knows first. I didn't come over here to spoil Rhonwen, even if I did come over with a few tokens of appreciation. I came over because Bren's partner probably wouldn't wake up if he caught on fire."

It seemed to be his day for blinking in surprise. _(She said that?)_

"Growled it at about two in the morning, yes. She didn't leave for the station until I got here."

He would have remembered something like that, wouldn't he? Mewtwo shook his head. He was still tired, his neck hurt from the damn couch, and this conversation was making no sense. _(I think I'm going to go read a book,)_ he said. _(If this is my day off, I'm going to relax.)_

"I can exit stage left if you'd like, or stay around to make dinner. I solemnly swear Bren picked up Leon's habits in the kitchen, not mine."

_(I think I'd prefer company, if you don't mind distracted conversation.)_ It was the truth. He didn't want to think about what Sheryl had said just yet.

"I don't think I remember logical conversation," she said. "I work with scientists. You haven't heard illogical until you've talked to a microbiologist and a nuclear physicist over lunch."

_(I don't think I would want to. I like science, but not that much.)_ Besides, he was more interested in genetics.

"Any particular branch? I like to talk to people from one discipline at a time. Otherwise, it just gets confusing."

_(Genetics.)_

"Ever consider taking a look at the mold growing in the back of Bren's fridge? I'm pretty sure that it's a new species."

Mewtwo smirked, and looked down at the table.

**End Notes**

Merry late Christmas, Doc! This chapter's yours!


	9. Match

**Friday**

Brenda saved and printed her report of her early morning visit, and glared at the printer. There was the satisfying sound of a working machine. It hadn't been that long since her printer had been fixed. Not that the assholes in Maintenance would have gotten up to Homicide for the job. Nope, Mewtwo had done something with a screwdriver and telekinesis, and after that, the thing hadn't broken again.

It saved her bruised knuckles, anyways.

"You! Aitken! Run this up to Peabody for me." Brenda held up her report, and grinned as the officer walked over. The expression on Aitken's face was priceless when he glanced over the report.

"You mean there's someone stupid enough to try and break into a cop's home?"

"Someone has to be that idiotic. Get going. I've a trainer to run back to the league." Brenda stood up and stretched, until she was standing on her toes with her back arched. Several satisfying cracks later, she relaxed and saw Aitken was still standing by her desk.

"What are you still doing here?"

Aitken turned beat red. "Sorry sir. Going now sir."

Brenda frowned after Aitken, and then shook her head. Aitken wasn't her problem. Romilly, Aitken's senior partner, was in charge of teaching the boy.

Brenda didn't hurry as she walked towards the elevator. The cages- where the suspects were kept, right next to the detox tanks- were in the basement. Sane people didn't want to see the cages in anything approaching real light.

The elevator ride was dull. Brenda leaned in the corner, doing her best to keep her weight off her bad leg. A muscle by her knee was starting to twitch in a really irritating way.

The elevator doors opened, and Brenda stepped out into the basement.

It wasn't a cheery place. There was a great deal of concrete; what wasn't concrete was iron. The officer in charge of admissions to the cages had a metal desk, and the one good light hung right over his head. It highlighted every scar in the metal desk and every scratch on the concrete floor, and shone off the officer's bald head.

"Morning, Larry," she said. "I'm here for a trainer."

Larry looked up and grinned. "He's not been any trouble. Put the dampeners on him, he quieted right down. So did everything else."

"You know, I didn't think the desk used to be that dented. He picked it up?"

"It was a real strain, too. I could see it. That's when we managed to get close enough for the dampeners."

Brenda frowned. "Maybe I shouldn't have just dumped him on you."

"Nah, it's fine. He would've tossed you like he did the rest of us." Larry stood up, and picked up a ring of keys. "Come on."

Brenda followed along behind Larry, nodding to one of the other cage guards on duty. She noted five guys with dampeners in one cage, three in another.

"We have a lot of psychics in today?" she asked.

"When don't we?" Larry stopped in front of one of the tamer cages- no one was reaching through the bars in this one, or howling like some demented pokemon- and unlocked the door. "Alright, Mr. Tristan, come along now."

Samuel looked like a whole other person, compared to how Brenda had last seen him. The dampeners were clamped about his wrists like matte black parodies of bracelets, the kind that cover half of the lower arm. His clothes were damp in spots, water instead of anything viler. His confidence had shattered.

Brenda smiled, and stepped forward. Samuel stopped, and stared at her. She waited for the anger, and resentment.

What surprised her was the hatred.

"You've ruined me," Samuel hissed.

"Like I care?" Brenda asked, and reached forward. Before Samuel could react, she'd grabbed him by the scruff of the neck and was hauling him down between the cages.

"See you later, Brenda," Larry called after her.

"Later, Larry." Brenda forced Samuel to move a little faster. "I'll bring the dampeners back."

"Thanks."

"Bitch," Samuel hissed. Brenda pretended to stumble, and slammed into him. He nearly fell to the ground, to the laughter and catcalls of the criminals in the cages.

"Do you want to get out in one piece?" Brenda asked. "Because I have no problem tossing you to _them_." She jerked her head at one of the rougher cages. Not one of the people there was lacking in piercings or tattoos.

Samuel paled, and shook his head. Brenda smiled, and tugged him forward again.

The elevator ride was silent. Stepping out into the brightly lit hall of the police station was obviously a surprise for Samuel. He blinked at the windows, and then looked up at Brenda.

"I thought I'd been down there a lot longer," he whispered.

For a moment, Brenda saw the fourteen year old kid Samuel really was. Scared, looking for someone, anyone who'd help him out, give him a little guidance.

And then reality snapped back into place, and Samuel scowled at her. "Tell me, have I missed my tournament?"

"Not yet," Brenda said, "but it's pretty tempting to drive slowly."

"What?"

"Come on." She'd arrested him; she'd get him back in time. And then later she'd ferry him to his court date, for the B and E.

**Friday**

For the second time in a day, Brenda found herself chauffeuring a sulky psychic teenager back to the league. He'd lost his challenge, and the court had ruled that, for breaking and entering, he'd get to keep his nifty dampeners a little longer. For three months, which was shorter then Brenda would have given him.

Of course, reviewing what he'd broken in to her home to do, she would've given him a lobotomy.

She'd been very carefully not thinking about it.

She glanced in the rearview mirror, and scowled at Samuel. He didn't look nearly sick enough to her mind.

She made a few quasi-legal driving moves, which left her tires squealing and at least seven, maybe eight horns blaring behind her. Samuel had been tossed against the side door.

"_What are you trying to do, kill us_?"

"Relax." Brenda took one hand off the wheel, waved it in the air. She also did a lane change without obviously checking her blind spot. "I'm a professional."

There was a muffled yelp in the backseat, and then silence.

She pulled up in front of the league gates. "Alright. You, out."

Samuel stumbled out of her car, and slammed the door. It popped back open. He stared at it, and then looked at her.

"Kick it," she suggested. "Or I'll kick you."

He winced, and kicked the door. It stayed closed that time.

Brenda didn't stick around for any parting words. Sammy-boy had a parole officer and one of his main senses taken away. It wasn't nearly as satisfying as kicking his ass, but it would have to do.

And if he _ever_ came near Mewtwo _ever_ again… justifiable homicide.

Brenda calmed down when she nearly rear-ended a truck. Driving mad was dangerous. Driving home to be mad was, currently, nearly as dangerous. Sheryl was observant, and would pry. Mewtwo- Brenda didn't know what Mewtwo would do. Fight back? Cower? He was all over the damn place. Hopefully Sheryl would be able to sort him out.

There was a small city park just across the street. Brenda found a parking space, and got out. She just needed to fucking deal.

She sat down on the grass, and stared at the toes of her boots. Samuel Tristan, psychic and asshole, had broken into her home to catch Mewtwo, in all probability. He probably thought she had a pokeball somewhere, hidden, and if he had that…

The next thing Brenda knew, her hand hurt and she was facing a tree.

She'd punched the tree?

She looked down at her hand. Her palms were bleeding, her knuckles were scraped. She'd _punched_ the tree, so hard her nails had drawn blood.

Brenda closed her eyes and reminded herself that Samuel was obviously the spawn of something slimy and amoral. People like Samuel judged everyone by what they themselves would do. It wouldn't occur to Samuel that Brenda hadn't caught Mewtwo.

It didn't really help.

Still, how could someone as fucked in the head as Samuel understand how much Brenda hated pokeballs? Hell, she didn't just hate pokeballs, she hated everything about pokemon training.

She wondered if Mewtwo had ever picked that up. Probably not. He didn't like prying, and it wasn't something she liked to think about.

It wasn't much of a stretch to think of pokemon training as slavery. Not for Brenda, at least, and not for people who'd managed to escape the League brainwashing when they'd been younger. Sheryl, for example, or Leon, or Alison.

It was a bit disturbing that the only other people Brenda could say disliked training nearly as much as she did happened to be related to her, but…

Anyone who found that level of violence fun was just a serial killer waiting to happen, in Brenda's mind.

"I'd never do that to him," she said, jumping a little at the sound of her voice. She scowled. She hadn't meant to speak out loud.

It was time to get back. Sheryl would notice the bloody hand. Brenda tried to think up a good excuse for punching a tree, and shrugged.

Having to deal with Samuel Tristan for most of the morning was a good excuse for nearly anything.

**Friday**

Brenda kicked her door closed, and scanned her street. She lifted one eyebrow at the sight of a pedestrian. He looked familiar.

It was the casual clothes that threw her. Brenda had to walk a little towards him to recognize George Demonte, security chief for the League. She thought she recognized him from a neighborhood barbeque earlier in the year, too. She'd stuck around long enough to be seen, and then left when the beer was brought out.

"Hey! Demonte!" Why she spoke to him, Brenda didn't know. Something was wrong with how he was walking. It was too stiff to be comfortable. He was in casual clothes, but the League was open. Shouldn't he have been in uniform, at his job? He didn't look sick.

"Johnson." Demonte looked up, and Brenda froze.

It was the expression in his eyes.

Shit. She'd fucked up.

"Demonte…" She said, shifting her weight.

"You made him lose."

Brenda just managed to duck a punch that would have broken her jaw.

**Friday**

**Psychic!**

Mewtwo looked up from his book, and blinked. He could hear it too. Fighting. Brenda's mind, her mental shields up and spiky. She wasn't swearing.

It was serious.

_(Sheryl, there is a problem. Stay here, I'll deal with it. Call the police.)_ Mewtwo didn't wait to see if she'd follow his directions. He got up and followed Rhonwen to the door, and outside.

He recognized the man attacking Brenda, but couldn't remember from where. Not that it mattered. Brenda wasn't managing the fight very well.

Her leg was sore. He saw it, and knew her attacker saw it. What he couldn't understand, though, was why Brenda flinched every time she threw a punch.

Mewtwo moved forward when Brenda's attacker landed a hit, right on her ribs.

One foot braced against the ground, tail held for balance- he kicked the man in the chest with as much strength as he dared use.

The man stumbled back three steps, and looked over. Mewtwo recognized him from the league, but no name came to mind.

"Stay out of this," the man snarled.

"Idiot!" Brenda backed away a few steps, until she was behind Mewtwo. One hand was pressed against her side. "Don't hold back. Pound the fucker into the ground, would you!"

Mewtwo glanced over his shoulder at her- and was hit in the face.

Something cracked. He stumbled, and fell to his knees, one paw going to his cheek and the other going to the sidewalk. It felt like his face was on fire.

Rhonwen snarled and jumped over Mewtwo. The man bellowed, and then there was a bark.

"Get up!" Brenda pulled at Mewtwo's arm. "Hate to say this, but he's high on something. He's gotta be. Don't hold back, break bones if you have to. I don't have my gun."

She didn't have her gun? Mewtwo turned his head to stare at her.

"It's in the car. Can you hold him long enough for me to grab it?"

It wouldn't take her long. A minute, tops. Rhonwen couldn't handle the human on her own. Brenda was keeping Mewtwo between her and the man.

Mewtwo nodded. He could. He just couldn't promise the human would be unharmed once he was finished.

He turned back, just in time to see the man kick Rhonwen. Rhonwen snarled and spat fire, but it was poorly aimed.

The man turned towards Mewtwo and Brenda. Mewtwo made sure not to hold back when he kicked him- in the abdomen, that time.

The man doubled over, groaning, but he didn't fall. Mewtwo kicked him again, in the shoulder, and heard something crack.

He bared his teeth, and spread his feet as he gathered psychic energy in the palm of one hand. The man looked up, and scowled.

"Freeze." Brenda stepped forward, gun pointed at the man's head. "Demonte, you're under arrest for assault and I don't know what else. You have the right to remain silent."

"You made him lose." If Demonte noticed the gun, he didn't show it. "I'll kill you, bitch."

"I'm sure that'll make a lot of sense once you're in interview. Down on the ground, hands behind your head. There's a good boy."

Brenda looked up at Mewtwo, and scowled. "That's the last time I leave my cuffs on my desk," she said.

Mewtwo just nodded, and pulled on his illusion when he heard police sirens. "It's going to get very busy," he murmured, edging closer to her.

"Oh yeah."

**Saturday**

Brenda opened the door, and held it for Mewtwo. He stumbled through, and went right for the couch. Rhonwen saw him coming, growled, and jumped down. He didn't notice. Brenda watched; he was asleep in a minute.

"You were out late."

"I was out all day and night," Brenda corrected. "You were right. Impulsive killer."

Sheryl folded her arms, and frowned. "Do you care to explain that for those of us who haven't been on the investigation lately?"

"Sorry." Brenda rubbed one hand over her face. "Coffee?"

"Sit down, I'll make it. You look like you'd forget to put a pot under the filter."

"Probably."

Only once the two of them both had mugs of coffee in front of them did Brenda start to talk.

"We went to Demonte's- George Demonte, head of the league security- to his house. Just down the street, did you notice?"

"I did."

"Right, well, most of his house is even worse then mine. Dusty, except for the bedroom, the kitchen, and the bathroom. The bedroom is like a shrine to Samuel Tristan."

"Ah." Sheryl took a sip of coffee. "I think I see where this is going."

"Demonte snapped, somewhere along the line. I think his lawyer's going to plead insanity. I sure wouldn't disagree."

"So, he's the killer?"

"He admitted to it right off." Brenda gulped half her coffee, and stared into the remaining liquid. "They were in the way. He got rid of them so his hero could… I don't know, by that point I was just looking over at Mara-anni and wondering what could drive a guy so bonkers."

"You weren't interviewing him?" Sheryl lifted one eyebrow.

"I tried. He went spastic. Apparently I was in the way, too. Hounding his hero."

"So you and Mara-anni were watching?"

"Mara was in the station, checking on one of her cases." Brenda shrugged. "She was curious, the observation room was open."

"So it's case closed?"

"Not quite." Brenda finished her coffee. "We still have to gather the evidence, and his confession's mostly bull because of the psycho factor, and I still need a good night's sleep, but other then that? Yeah."

"Good. Go to bed, I'll take care of things here." Sheryl sat back in her chair and watched Brenda stumble to her bedroom.

It seemed like a closed case to her.

**End Notes**

Yes, that's a 'complete' you see up there in the corner at the top. Jokulhaups is finished. Complete. Of course there will be another story after Jokulhaups, and hopefully there won't be the same gaps in updating in that one as there was in this one.

This chapter is dedicated to RabulaTasa, as a very late Christmas present.


End file.
